The Deepest Cuts Don't Bleed
by scarylolita
Summary: Kyle's eating is disordered and his OCD is slowly getting worse. Craig is letting his philophobia control his life, denying himself anything that might make him happy. Stan is trying to mentally prepare himself for his parents' inevitable divorce. Meanwhile, Kenny is just rolling with the punches, quite literally.
1. SM: Don't make me hit you

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Alternating perspectives, yet again :) this is gonna be another long fic.**

**Pairings in the fic: many, many brief physical couplings (a lot of crack), some straight some gay (Stenny, Kebe, etc) but eventually Style, Crenny, Clybe.**

**Warnings: mentions of suicide and eating disorders**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

Kyle's been washing his hands for an hour. An hour! I let out a loud, impatient groan even though I know he can't hear me from where he is. I'm sitting on his bed waiting for him to help me with my homework. I don't really get angry at his habits, but this one is pissing me off a lot lately. He even does it at my house!

I stand up and wander out of his room and into the hall. "Ky?" I say his name as I reach the closed bathroom door. No answer. There's just the sound of water running. "Kyle!" I shout this time, giving the door a few solid bangs.

"What is it?" His voice comes out robotic, as if he's mesmerized by something. Maybe it's the sound of the water, the movements of his hands… I don't fucking know.

"Get the hell out of there," I demand. "My parents want me home to eat at six. It's almost five now and you've been in there since I got here and I can hear the fucking sink tap."

"One second…" he murmurs hazily.

I let out a sigh and walk back into his room, flopping onto the bed. Hand washing isn't the only thing he obsesses over. His eating habits are messed up again. He makes his bed before he sleeps in it. He has to have all of his belongings in their exact places. His clothing is organized by colour and his books are arranged alphabetically. I don't know why he does it. I wonder what would happen if someone were to mess it up… not that I'd actually do it. I'm not that much of a dick. Cartman is, though and I'm sure the thought has crossed his mind on a few occasions. It all probably stems from the fact that he's a perfectionist. Everything needs to be clean and neat.

Ike once told me that Kyle takes really long showers, too. He said Kyle was once taking so long that Sheila made him go check to make sure he was all right. Apparently Kyle just stands under the nozzle and loofas his skin until it's red. Ike says he does it in almost a daze. He said that sometimes Sheila forces him out and he's in a bad mood for the rest of the day. I don't really understand it.

Kyle returns to his room a moment later, looking his typical self. His curly hair is tidily framing his face and his jeans and argyle sweater are spotless.

Unimpressed, I say, "Finally."

He dismisses the comment and opens up a math textbook. Kyle is in advanced math, naturally. Sometimes I think he's too smart for his own good… I wonder if there's such a thing. He's bilingual, too. He started studying Hebrew when he was thirteen, which made his parents pretty damn proud. He's fluent now. Sometimes I hear him speak it.

We've been spending a lot more time together lately. I feel kind of bad, but I think I've neglected him a lot during the past few years after my relationship with Wendy got serious. And by serious, I mean sexual… but two weeks ago, she dumped me. So that's all over. No more sex for Stan Marsh. Now everyone is saying she might be a lesbian. If it's true, I think I might feel a hell of a lot better about all this than I do right now. Then at least I would know that she didn't just dump me for another dude. I mean, if she's a lesbian then she clearly realized that she wants something I can't give her. If it's another guy… I'll just feel even more insecure.

Kyle has never had a girlfriend. He says he doesn't want one. I don't know why. Having a girlfriend is great. He doesn't really like being touched. I think that's probably because he likes staying clean and he's definitely smart enough to know that people are pretty filthy.

"Okay," he starts, opening to a page of impossible looking math equations. "Look here…"

* * *

At school the following day, I find Wendy at her locker. Her pin-straight, black hair is in a bun atop her head and she looks as good as ever. "Hey," I greet.

"Hey," she smiles prettily. We agreed to stay friends. It's kind of hard. It's so obvious that she has no feelings for me. I can't help but wonder when they started to disintegrate.

"I was wondering," I start, "if we could talk during lunch break."

She looks a little sympathetic and it makes me feel embarrassed. It's like she knows I'm still here drooling over her. "Sure, Stan. We can do that."

"Thanks," I say, forcing a smile.

Class is long and dull. I just want the day to end so I can find Wendy and get a little bit of closure. Kyle is sitting next to me, taking notes. His writing is tidy. When he makes a mistake, he lets out a sharp breath and erases the pencil marks. I watch him for a few minutes, watching the way his hand curves as he writes. He's always had these strange little habits. I never really understood them. They just get worse as the time goes on. At first it was simple things. He would tap light switches when entering or exiting a room. He would rattle knobs, as if he was always worried he forgot to lock the doors. He was always one for alphabetizing. All of his things have their own place in his room. Now, there's the hand washing. I wouldn't exactly call it a quirk.

After first period ends, I part ways with Kyle and make my way to my next class. The day continues slowly and I keep looking at the clock, as if I'm willing the time to speed ahead just for me so I can find out whether or not Wendy is a lesbian. It sounds pretty stupid, even when I say it in my head. Christ, I'm an idiot sometimes.

When lunch break finally starts, I rush back to Wendy's locker without bothering to stop at mine. "Hey," I say once I spot her, trying to play it cool.

"Hey, Stan," she greets, placing a few books in her locker. "So, what's up?"

"Er," I look around to make sure no one's listening. "I wanted to know why you broke up with me… People are saying it's because you're a lesbian… Well, _are_ you a lesbian?"

"I don't think so?" she asks, looking mildly humoured. "Who knows, though? Sexuality can be incredibly fluid. Maybe I _will_ fall for a girl someday."

Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better about the fact that she dumped me. "Oh," I mumble. This isn't going quite how I planned.

"I didn't dump you for another boy, if that's what you're wondering," she adds. "I just… I feel like we grew apart, Stan. I stopped feeling things for you and I let it go on for too long in hopes that I might fall for you again. It didn't happen. I suppose I was silly to think it would."

"Oh," I mumble once more. "When did it happen?"

"Last year," She admits. "We… We just have too much history, I thought that we might be able to go back to where we started but I know now that it was unrealistic for me to think like that."

"Well, shit," I murmur.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Now that you're single for the first time in almost eight years, experiment a little."

"Experiment?" I ask.

She nods. "Kiss your friends. Use your hand on a boy… I don't know. Be spontaneous. Be young. Explore yourself a bit. Don't be afraid to get a little crazy."

"Er… I don't think I'll be screwing around with any dudes in the near future, but thanks for the suggestion," I say with a nervous chuckle. "Is this the kind of thing you'll be doing?"

She shrugs her shoulders again. "Perhaps… I mean, we may as well experience as much as we can. Life is short. As long as you play safe, there's nothing wrong with getting curious."

"Yeah…" I trail off.

"I'm really sorry, Stan," she says softly, probably sensing my angst. I'm sure it'd be noticeable from a fifty mile radius.

"It's fine." My voice cracks, but I'm not going to cry. Hell no. I take a breath and force a smile. "Thanks for agreeing to talk."

She pats my arm in a _friendly_ gesture. "Sure, Stan."

I wave and go to find my usual crew.

* * *

The school day ends and I feel like there's an even bigger hole in my chest. Closure, my ass.

Me and the guys are walking home now and Cartman is chortling as he tells us about his weekend. Or, more accurately, he's telling us about the poor girl he's manipulated into having sex with him. He's always been incredibly manipulative. He uses it for evil, of course.

Kyle looks like he's drowning Cartman out and Kenny is rolling his eyes at the fat ass. "You're such a fucking pig, Cartman," he sighs, the words come out muffled behind his parka hood.

"Says you," Cartman cackles. "Kinny, you're the pig. We all hear stories about you fuckin' whoever will spread their legs for yah. Girls… and guys. Desperate much?"

This catches my attention because I, for one, have not heard stories about the infamously insatiable lady's man Kenny McCormick getting naked with any dudes. I glance at Kyle, who just shrugs, not seeming all that interested in the potential tale of scandal.

"Shut up, big-tits," he retorts, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets for further warmth.

"Yeah, I heard about you and –" Cartman starts again, only to be cut off by Kenny.

"I said shut up," he says warily. "You're such an ass."

Cartman doesn't press it any further and I don't bother prying. The four of us walk to Kyle's house, where we start brainstorming ideas for our upcoming English oral presentation. We have to do it on an influential writer and then we need to talk about their literary life and personal life. It's pretty dry and boring stuff, if you ask me.

When we arrive at Kyle's house, he swings open the door and announces, "I'm home!"

Sheila appears from the kitchen a moment later and greets us. "Welcome back," she says. "Hello, boys."

We all greet her in return and she asks us what we're up to. We tell her it's homework and our visit is of purely academic purpose. She seems satisfied with that, so we all shuffle upstairs.

"Any ideas?" Kyle asks us, sitting at his desk.

"I dunno," I shrug, flopping onto his bed with Kenny and Cartman.

"We could do Shakespeare?" he chuckles. "He's famous, but I don't think anyone is bold enough to study him."

"Dude," I state, "don't make me fuckin' hit you."

The corners of his lips quirk upward. "You wouldn't hit me," he says with a smile.

"Oh, really?" I challenge.

"Yes, really," he insists, not at all swayed.

"How can you be so sure?" I tease. Of course, he's right. I wouldn't hit Kyle. For one, I'm six feet tall and I've got a hell of a lot more muscle. And two… Well, he's Kyle! I wouldn't hit my best pal.

"Because I know you," he says.

"Yeah," I chuckle. I feel like I'm pretty two dimensional. What you see is what you get. I'm kind of an idiot, but I have a good heart. I know that much. Kyle, on the other hand, is a mystery – even to me. He has secrets. For some damned reason, I never knew it before now. I guess the majority of my time was really consumed by Wendy, not that she demanded it. I was the one clinging to her. Maybe this breakup won't be such a bad thing. I can get to know my best friend again.

Cartman cups his hands around his mouth and echoes, "Gay!"

I roll my eyes and Kyle just snickers.

"Gonna get a room and make out a lil?" Cartman asks us, giving us both disdainful glances. "Want me and Kinny to give you guys a moment?"

"Ha-ha, Tits," I deadpan. "You're _so_ funny."

"Ay! That's not my name!" the fat ass yells defensively.

A moment later, Sheila starts hollering for Kyle. With a sigh, he leaves his room.

"What's the bitch want?" Cartman asks.

"Probably to make sure we don't overstay our welcome," Kenny snorts. "She prefers that he spends his weekdays studying."

With a devious, little snicker, Cartman stands up and wanders towards Kyle's carefully organized book shelf.

"Dude…" I sigh. "Don't touch any of his shit."

"Why?" he asks. "Think he'll get angry?"

"Probably," I say.

With a smug expression, he starts taking books and placing them between other books. "Thomas Mann?" he reads. "You can go before to Kerouac… And Nabokov… you'll go after Zimbardo… Ginsberg can go next to Murakami." He continues murmuring to himself. Bad as it sounds, I don't stop him because I'm also wondering what Kyle will do once he notices his alphabetized shelf is in disarray.

Cartman flops onto the floor and looks immensely proud of himself. Kyle returns a few minutes later and sits back down at his desk. "Which writer do you guys want to study?" he asks, only to be greeted with silence. He lets out an exasperated sigh and adds, "Come on, guys. I'm open for suggestions. I doubt you want me to just go ahead and pick." Kyle would probably pick the hardest piece of literature because he likes to show off his smarts.

"Let's do the _Harry Potter_ books," Kenny says. "It'll be easy."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Easy? Maybe," he starts, "but I'm sure there are already a few kids who will be talking about the _Harry Potter_ series. Why don't we do Jane Austen, Mark Twain, James Joyce, Ernest Hemmingway or Charlotte Bronte?"

"I don't even know who those people are, dude," I admit.

He lets out a groan and saunters towards his book shelf. My heart starts palpitating as I wait for him to react. "Wait…" he murmurs to himself as he scans each shelf. "Wait…" he says again, as if he's hoping that it's not as it seems… but it is.

"Ky –" I start, but Cartman nudges me to shut me up. He wants to watch Kyle's panic unfold like the sadist he is.

"Wh-what did you do?" Kyle asks, stuttering the question like he is afraid of something. He approaches his shelf and frantically moves his fingers across each title. "This is wrong… this isn't…" he trails off and turns to us. "Who did this?"

Me and Kenny point to Cartman.

"Why?" he demands, breathing heavily.

"Because I thought it'd be funny… and I was right," Cartman laughs.

Kyle's eyebrows draw together and his jaw tightens. He turns around and stares back at the shelf of wrongly ordered books. Then he starts crying. Me and Kenny share a strange look, the room suddenly grows tense and uncomfortable. "Kyle," I say his name. I stand up and approach him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me!" he snaps and I recoil. He reaches forward and takes each book Cartman moved and puts them all back in their correct place. Then he lets out a quiet sigh, briskly wipes his eyes and turns around once more. "Don't ever do that again," he says to Cartman, giving him a hard punch in the shoulder. His voice is hard and stern and it's like his life depends on the alphabetization of these books. He looks flushed, probably from the crying, but he's also probably pretty embarrassed for getting so worked up over something that doesn't seem like such a big deal… I guess, for him, it _is_ a big deal.

I think Cartman is just as taken aback as me and Kenny, because he has no witty retort this time. He just stays silent. "Christ…" he finally deadpans.

Kyle sits back down at his desk and crosses his legs. "We're doing our oral presentation on Mark Twain," he announces, not giving the rest of us a say in the matter.

The three of us simply nod.

* * *

For a few hours we obediently follow Kyle's orders. Well, Cartman gave him a bit of a hard time, but that's to be expected. Kyle chain-smokes for the duration, a habit I really wish he'd kick. Sheila eventually kicked us out, saying that they were having supper and they our parents probably wanted us home since it was getting late. I wanted to laugh. Liane is completely oblivious, Carol and Stuart don't care, and my own parents have been fighting too much to notice me. I think a divorce is in the near future… but I feel sick to my stomach when I think about it, so I don't let myself. If it happens, I'll force myself to deal with it. But until then, I'm trying hard not to hover. It's ironic. Kyle's parents are fucked up, but they're the most together these days.

"Kahl went mental earlier," Cartman mentions as the three of us walk down the street. "It was pretty screwed up… talk about being dramatic."

"Yeah," I murmur, "and it was all thanks to you."

"With a canon that loose, he'll land himself in the funny farm soon enough," Cartman says with certainty.

"No, he won't," I laugh. "Kyle might have some lingering issues, but he's definitely not going to end up in a nut house."

Cartman snickers. "He's been there twice. What's stopping him from going back?"

"The talking shit doesn't count," I mutter, recalling the infamous Mr. Hankey incident. Gross.

"But the second time… that counts," he says.

"He's better now," I insist.

"Is he really?" Kenny wonders and I just sigh, not wanting to think about it. It's hardly a pleasant memory.

We soon approach my house and I bid them a farewell as I turn into my driveway. I take a breath before opening the door and I'm immediately greeted with loud, angry voices. My parents are arguing in the kitchen. "I'm unhappy!" I hear my mom shout and my gut twists around in my stomach. I arrived just in time for the best part. I hang up my coat, kick off my boots and enter the living room.

Shelly is watching TV, looking completely disinterested in what is happening in the other room. I sit down beside her and ask, "If they get divorced, who are you going to live with?"

"Mom," she says without a hint of hesitation or thought. "Why?"

"I'm just wondering," I tell her. I don't know who I would choose to live with. I think it bothers Shelly, even though she doesn't act like it. I've noticed because she's nicer to me. I know it's not my size, because that hasn't stopped her before. I tower over her, but she still manages to get the upper hand. Nonetheless, she doesn't smack me as much as she used to and she doesn't yell as much. I guess my parents do all of the yelling these days.

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut. The yelling continues. I think my mom is crying now. You can hear it in her voice. I stand up and approach the kitchen. "Are you guys going to get divorced?" I ask from the doorway. I don't think I want to find out my dad is gone when I'm getting ready for school or doing something completely mundane. I want to know. I need to know.

My mom looks at me with a face full of tearful sympathy. My dad just sighs, somewhat angrily. "We don't know yet," he says.

"You should just get it over with," I say tartly. "Mom's unhappy. That isn't going to change." I turn around and leave, running up the stairs and retreating to my room. I shrug off my jeans and put on a pair of sweatpants, not bothering to change my shirt. I sit on my bed and hug myself for many long minutes, trying hard to blank my mind but I can still hear them screaming at each other. "Fucking hell," I mumble. This sucks. I grab my phone from my nightstand and decide to text Kyle.

YOU: _hey, you busy?_

He replies a few moments later, with perfect spelling and grammar –

KYLE B: _No, I'm just doing a bit of reading. What's up? _

YOU: _my parents are at each others throats and its fucking infuriating_

KYLE B: _I'm sorry._

YOU: _so am i_

KYLE B: _It isn't your fault. Don't blame yourself._

YOU: _im trying not to but its hard and i keep wondering if it might be my fault_

KYLE B: _It's not. They have things they need to work through. It's between them._

I read the words over and over again and I can't help but wonder if Kyle is right. Maybe it's not my fault and maybe I should just go with the flow. I could probably learn a thing or two from Kenny. He's used to that kind of fighting. His parents fight all the time and he's doing all right. Well, I guess I'm using the term _all right_ a bit loose in this case. Kenny has issues, just like the rest of us. He just doesn't cry over spilled milk. Maybe I shouldn't either. There's nothing I can do now.

* * *

I texted Kyle throughout much of the night and I couldn't help but wonder if he often stays up as late as 4AM. I know he likes to keep to his strict schedule, so he probably did it for my benefit. True friend, he is.

It's morning now. I saunter downstairs to find my dad sleeping on the sofa. My mom must've taken the bed. I let out a sigh and rub my temples as I walk into the kitchen to make myself breakfast.

I make a piece of toast and nibble on it for a few minutes before realizing I don't feel all that hungry. I sit down at the table and close my eyes, pressing my forehead to the wood. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not. I take a deep breath. And then I take another. And another. Then I open my eyes, having willed the lump in my throat away. I stand up and go back to my bedroom. I throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt before running back downstairs. I zip up my jacket and tuck my pants into my boots. Grabbing my backpack, I leave without a word.

I don't typically look forward to school, but I'm sure it'll be a hell of a lot more pleasant than being at home right now. Seeing my dad on the sofa is just a big reminder that my parents hate each other. No kid wants to know that shit.

At school, I meet Kenny, Kyle and Cartman for English class. "We should meet up again after school," Kyle suggests. "I want to finish the project as early as possible. I started it last night –"

"Ky," I cut him off. "Don't do all the work yourself. We'll help out."

He presses his lips together to form a thin line. Kyle is a perfectionist. Because of this, he hates group work. It's no secret that Kenny is lazy, Cartman doesn't care, and I'm an idiot. It stresses him out. "I just want to do well," he says. "I _need_ to."

"I know," I say softly. "And we will. We always do." It's true. Every time we do a group project together, we end up with an A. I think this is mainly due to Kyle constantly correcting everything we do. I guess I can't really talk because I let it happen, knowing it'll benefit me in the end.

"Yeah," he murmurs, sighing. "Yeah…"

"It'll be fine, Kyle," Kenny adds, patting his shoulder.

Kyle only brushes Kenny off and Cartman rolls his eyes at Kyle's constant worrying. "Fuckin' ginger Jew bitch," he mutters.

Kyle flips him off, eyes narrowing disdainfully. "Stupid cow."

The teacher walks in a moment later. "Silence," she warily demands as she writes today's topic on the chalkboard.

I can already tell it's going to be yet another long and painful day.


	2. KM: Two kindred spirits

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Since I'm already done writing all the chapters, feel free to leave a review or drop me a message if you want to know any spoilers. I know that some people don't like surprises ahah~ anyway, thank you for following and such :) **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

It's lunch break now and rather than sitting in the cafeteria with Kyle, Eric and Stan, I'm behind the school with Craig. He's smoking a joint and looking incredibly tired. The dark circles under his eyes are looking extra prominent. I like bugging Craig. He's so stoic and emotionless; you never know what he's thinking. It's always a feat to get a reaction. I don't really know much about him, I just know he's friends with Clyde and Token. Wendy and her friends also seem fond of him. Hell, even my girlfriend likes him. I've been noticing him lately, too, and that's why I've been hanging around him more. He grew up nice.

"You okay?" I ask as he passes me the joint. I take off the hood of my parka and I see him watch me. I ruffle my hair, give him a pretty grin and take a puff. It still happens. Whenever I'm seen without my hood up, people stare. I wear it a bit less these days, but I still have it on more than I have it off when I'm not in the confines of my own house.

"Yeah," he says flatly, sitting on the cement stairwell.

"You don't look it," I point out.

"I'm tired," he states.

"Up late?" I assume.

"Not by choice," he murmurs.

"Why, then?" I pry.

"I have sleeping problems," he states somewhat tersely.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I have insomnia," he specifies slowly in a patronizing tone.

I dismiss his attitude. "Whoa, really?" I wrinkle my nose. "That sucks."

"To put it lightly, yes, it does suck…" He rubs a hand down his face, sighing into his palm.

"I heard it was often a psychological thing," I decide to add. "Maybe you should see a therapist?"

"I did," he says. "Once."

"Well, one session won't do much good," I say. "Therapy is usually an ongoing thing."

"I got a prescription."

"Sleeping pills?" I roll my eyes. "Pills help you cope, therapy solves the problem. The two should go hand in hand. You can't just take pills and ignore the problem. That's bullshit. You don't want to be on pills forever."

"Stop talking about things you don't understand," he says.

"How do you know I don't understand?" I challenge. "I might not have trouble sleeping, but I've got a lot going on right now."

"Is that why you're always getting into fights?" he asks.

"Maybe." I give him a tight lipped smile.

He sighs. "Fine, you don't have to tell me."

"Let's play a game, Craig," I say.

He shakes his head. "I don't like games."

"You'll like this one," I insist. "Here are the rules: every day you have to tell me one true thing about yourself. It has to be something personal."

"I hate that idea," he says.

I'm not swayed. "If you say one true thing about yourself, I'll say one true thing about myself," I promise. "It will be fun." I pride myself on knowing lots of things about lots of people, but Craig is still a mystery.

He wrinkles his nose, grabbing the dead joint from me and tossing it into a nearby snow bank. "Why do you want to play this game?" he asks.

"I want to get to know you," I tell him.

He raises an eyebrow. "Why? I'm fucking boring."

"I have a feeling," I start, "that you're a hell of a lot more interesting that you let on."

For many long moments, he doesn't respond. I bet I'm right. Craig Tucker probably has a lot of interesting things about him that no one knows. Secrets and whatnot. I want to be the first to find them all out. "Fine," he finally relents with a sigh. "I'll play your game."

I grin. "I knew you would. Everyone loves my games."

Craig presses his lips together before saying, "I can play the piano. I'm classically trained."

"Wow," I say. "That's pretty impressive. I'm going to make you play for me one of these days."

He snorts. "No."

"Aw, why not?" I ask.

"I don't play anymore," he reveals.

"Why?" I pry.

He shakes his head. "It's your turn. I already said my part."

I let out a sigh. "Fine," I say. "I'm immortal."

Craig gives me the driest stare in the world. "If you're not going to play your own game, then you can't really expect me to."

I let out a chuckle. "Okay, I'm kidding…" I trail off. "Uh, I had my first kiss when I was eight."

"That's young," he says.

"Yeah," I admit with a laugh. "Truth or dare, y'know how it goes."

"Oh."

"Yeah, anyway…" I stand up and turn around, putting my hood back up. "I'll see you later." I walk back inside of the school and find Kyle, Eric and Stan.

"Where were you?" Kyle asks as I take the seat across from him and Stan and next to Eric.

"I was bugging Craig," I tell them with a little snicker. I reach forward and steal a carrot stick off of Stan's lunch trey and add, "He agreed to play a game with me."

"A game, huh? I'm sure he'll regret it soon enough," Stan says.

"Probably," I chuckle, "but until then, I'm going to enjoy it."

"Now, when you say a _game_," Kyle cuts in, "do you mean a mind game?"

"Perhaps," I say with a grin. With secrets there comes trust and an abundance of other feelings.

* * *

After school, I walk with the guys and we all make our way to the Broflovski house. I'm not exactly looking forward to another after school homework session. The last one was tense and uncomfortable after Eric decided to be an ass-hat.

When we all pile in through the front door, Sheila isn't there to greet us. I'm kind of glad about that. She's always been a little too overbearing. I think Kyle hates it. I hate it, too.

"It's Kevin Stoley's birthday this weekend," I decide to mention once we're settled upstairs. "He's having a party. I was taking to him this morning; he said we should come over."

"It's nice of him to invite us," Kyle says.

"Yeah," Stan adds. "We don't really know him that well."

"We should all go," I say.

"Is there gonna be booze?" Eric asks.

"Probably," I snort.

"Anyway," Kyle cuts in, "Let's not get off track."

"Right, right." Eric rolls his eyes.

We spent the next hour doing research on the life and times of Mark Twain. Kyle reads source after source while Stan and me take notes. Eric doesn't do anything, but none of us really expect him to. He's just in it for the easy A.

After the hour passes, Kyle kicks us out and says he'll go to the library and pick up a few biographies for us to leaf through and familiarize ourselves with.

"Sounds fun," I say with distaste.

Kyle just smiles and waves us off. Stan stays behind with him, naturally. They're probably just going to play video games until Sheila gets home and tells Stan to fuck off.

"Kyle was fine today," I say to Eric, tightening the drawstrings on my parka as we greet the cool air.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "He seemed less uptight."

"Because you weren't screwing with his shit," I point out.

Eric rolls his eyes. "Details, details…"

"So," I start, "what's going on in the life of Eric Cartman?"

"Money and hos."

"Right," I snicker, shaking my head. "I still can't believe you and Heidi screwed. That's just… weird."

"Ay! Why's it weird?"

"Because she's pretty and you… Well, you're one fat bastard, Tits."

"I'm hot and buff," Eric insists. "The girls all know it and that's why I get laid."

"Sure, dude, sure," I laugh.

* * *

The following few days are business, business and more business. Kyle is keeping us all in line with the project and we're about finished gathering our information. He'll probably make us piece it together on Saturday, after Kevin's party. We'll all probably be pretty hung over, so I'm dreading it. It's Friday now and class is over. Almost everybody is gone. There's just me, Bill and a few stragglers. I'm currently in the parking lot having a yelling match with him.

"Trailer trash!" he shouts and I bury my fist in his face. He throws the next punch and I feel myself fall backwards onto the slush. I take him down with me and we wrestle on the wet snow like a couple of angry animals.

The stragglers are surrounding us, watching it all go down. Some of the pricks have their fucking cellphones out, taking videos. This shit will be up on Facebook soon enough.

Before anyone can get severely hurt, two teachers run out and break it up. Since it's after hours, we don't get in trouble for fighting. Teachers don't really care. They just pretend to. Bill has a bloody lip and a blooming black eye. I have a bloody nose, but I'm sure I'll find a few bruises once I take my clothes off. Same goes for Bill. I know I landed a few solid hits.

On my way home, I spot Craig across the street. He's talking to Clyde while petting Rex, Clyde's dog. I wave at them before continuing. I wonder if Craig will be there. If so, I'll have to remind him of the game.

Yesterday he gave me another pointless fact about himself. He said, "I like the color blue."

The day before that, he said, "I enjoy Radiohead."

And before that, he said, "I have a guinea pig named Stripe."

I want the dirt. I guess I'll have to be patient. Once all the boring stuff is out of the way, he'll need to start digging deeper. Eventually all that's left will be the dark secrets. That's when the fun will begin. I just ended up telling him more sexual things about myself. I had my first blowjob when I was nine, I lost my virginity when I was twelve and I once let Bebe peg me. I think the last one surprised him, though he tried not to show it. I told her I wanted to stick it up her butt. She said sure, as long as I would let her do the same. Fair is fair, right?

At home, I change my clothes. I put on a pair of jeans and a new t-shirt, since I got sweat all over the clothes I was just wearing. I also have to wash my parka because I got a little blood on the fur. So, tonight I'll be no-hood Kenny.

I didn't bother buying him a present, since I have no fucking money. I don't really think he expects a gift from me anyway. I steal a six pack from my dad. He probably won't even notice it. He'll just think he drank it. I guess that'll be my contribution.

I throw on my backup jacket and put on some sneakers before walking to Kevin's. Once I leave the ghetto side of town, I turn up the street Kyle lives on. You can hear the music from here.

When I arrive to the Stoley house, Kevin greets me with a smile and I hand him the alcohol. "Happy birthday." He laughs happily and says thanks, inviting me inside. Kevin's house is modest, but nice.

"Bebe is already here," he tells me. "She's in the living room with Clyde, Wendy, Nichole and Token."

"Okay," I grin. "Thanks, dude."

I turn into the living room and spot them with minor difficulty. The room is quite full. I push my way past some people dancing and greet them.

"Hey," I say.

"Kenny," Bebe smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

I peck her on the lips and say, "What's everyone drinking tonight?"

"A shot of melon liqueur, a shot of sourpuss and the rest is fruit punch," Bebe says. "It's heavenly."

"Rum and coke," Nichole chuckles.

"Beer for me," Clyde says.

"Same," Token adds.

"Nice." I nod my approval. "Bebe, make me one of them, will yah? I'm curious."

"Sure," she smiles and takes my arm, leading me to the kitchen. There's an island in the center of the room with quite a few bottles of liquor – many empty or half full. I spot the six pack i just brought over sitting there. There's only two beers left. I guess that's a good thing.

"Is Craig here?" I can't help but wonder.

"Clyde said he'd be here," she says offhandedly as she pours green liquid into a plastic cup. "Why?"

"Just wondering," I shrug. "Him and Clyde are best pals, right?"

"Yeah," she nods.

I watch as she mixes the drink. "Did you see Eric, Kyle or Stan?"

"Nope," she shakes her head. "Wendy is here, though."

"Yeah, Stan's a little heartbroken because of her," I say. She hands me the drink and I take a sip. "Mm, melony. Hell, tastes damn good. I bet you could get drunk off these pretty effortlessly."

"Be careful," she warns me, laughing lightly. "It's definitely stronger than it tastes."

I nod. "Duly noted."

A minute later, Eric, Kyle and Stan walk into the kitchen. "Speak of the devil," I laugh. "Or, should I say _devils_."

Kyle and Stan grin while Eric immediately asks, "What the fuck are you drinking?"

I offer him a sip and as soon as he gets a taste, he grimaces, "That's a foofoo drink." He approaches the island and pours himself a cup of straight scotch. Yuck. Stan mixes himself a rum and coke before making Kyle a gin and tonic.

"Well," I say, raising my glass. "Have a good night."

I throw an arm around Bebe and the two of us leave the room.

* * *

As the night goes on, everyone gets pleasantly and unpleasantly wasted. Stan throws up around eleven and Eric laughs at him. "Dude, you're worse than a kid!"

People on the dance floor are pretty much humping one another and I know for a fact that many of them are running on more than just alcohol. Uppers, I'm betting. Yuck. I like to avoid that shit. As I scan the room for Bebe, I find Craig instead. "Hey," I shout over the music.

He holds up a hand, offering a less than enthusiastic wave.

"Seen Bebe?" I ask him, just for the sake of something to say.

"With Clyde," he informs, pointing to a door. "I think they're in the basement watching TV. They probably wanted to escape the crowd and go somewhere a bit quieter."

"Oh," I say. Well, I'll let them be.

"Clyde likes your girlfriend," Craig suddenly mentions.

"Does he?" I ask. Of course I already knew it. He's kind of obvious with the way he moons over her. He's loved her for a long, long time. Lots of guys like my girlfriend. She's beautiful. She has a heavenly shape and all that, but she's also a really easygoing gal. If I wasn't dating her, I'd probably want her, too.

Craig simply nods.

"We're not exclusive," I tell him. "I mean, if Bebe wanted to give him a taste, she could go right ahead."

"You're in an open relationship?" Craig asks.

I nod. "I love Bebe and she loves me. We have great sex and we like spending time together, but we also enjoy seeing other people. We're both very social beings. I think we both know that we aren't quite right for each other… but until it really sinks in and we fall for other people, we're going to keep this going."

"That's stupid," Craig says, giving me his two cents.

I just laugh. "What does Craig Tucker know about relationships? Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"No…"

"A boyfriend?" I ask in a slightly mocking tone. I'm just being a dick. I've got nothing against two guys going at it. Hell, I've made out with a few dudes. Fuck it, I've even done more than that. I won't bother denying it happened. What can I say? I'm insatiable. However, no boy has been up my ass. That was just Bebe with her strap on dildo.

"No," Craig murmurs.

"Have you ever had sex?"

He scoffs at me. "That's none of your business."

Well, I can't disagree with that. "Actually," I decide to mention, "You owe me a truth."

"Oh, right…" He frowns, looking like he's trying to think up something dull. "Okay. My favourite movie is _Stand By Me_."

"Heh, I like that one, too," I say. Honestly, it just reminds me of my childhood. So many crazy adventures.

"Your turn."

"I slept with a guy before," I tell him.

"All your secrets are sexual…" he notes.

"So?" I shrug. "Those are the best kind."

"Are they?"

"Yeah," I insist, "but would you prefer something else?"

"I don't know," he says.

I grin and lean forward. "Just say what you want Craig. For once in your life, just say it."

"Fine," he mutters. "I don't want your sexual history. Tell me something else."

"See? It's easy to say what you want." I pause, tapping my chin with my pointer finger. "I'm…" I trail off. I'm kind of at a loss. What can I tell him? All I really have are sex stories. I don't have any favourite movies or books. There are movies and books I like, but I don't know if I have a favourite. I don't think I can pick. I like music, too, but once again I don't have any favourites. I die a lot, but I can't exactly bring that up in a normal conversation, so I let out a sigh and admit, "I don't know myself very well."

Craig tilts his head to the side. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean exactly what I said – I don't know myself. I don't know what my favourite movie is. I don't know what my favourite colour is, or what my favourite band is. I don't have any pets and if I did they probably wouldn't even have names. I feel like I know everyone else better than I know myself… and you know what? I'm only realizing that right now."

He frowns. I'm not sure if it's a gesture of sympathy, or if it's just his normal face. Craig rarely smiles. He's always frowning and that's probably why everyone likes him so much. He's got the sad, broody thing going on and everyone loves to glamorize that flavor of bullshit. "Well, then," he starts, "I know this game is a way for you to get to know me… but maybe you can also look at it as a way for you to get to know yourself."

I smile. "Yeah, maybe…" I toss an arm around him and say, "You, my friend, need a drink." He doesn't protest as I drag him to the kitchen. I make him a stiff rum and coke and he cringes when he takes a sip.

"This is fucking awful," he states.

"I know," I snort, making myself another drink, "but it'll getcha hella turnt."

He shrugs and takes another sip. As it gets later, I soon learn that drunken Craig isn't very different than sober Craig. I see Stan passed out on Kyle's lap and Kyle looks thoroughly unimpressed with his super best pal. Eric has probably left by now. There are lots of kids in Stan's position, all passed out on top of each other. Good thing Kevin's parents are in China. Sucks they're away for their son's birthday, but if they came home to this mess, I bet they'd be pissed as hell.

* * *

The following morning, I wake up with a hangover more painful than a Madonna concert and it puts me to a screeching halt as I try to sit up. "Okay, timber…" I mutter to myself, lying back down. I grab my cellphone from the floor next to my mattress and dim the screen before texting Craig.

YOU: _awaaaaaake?_

He replies a few minutes later –

CRAIG: _No_.

YOU: _hungover?_

CRAIG: _A bit._

YOU: _sameeeee hurts like a bithc_

CRAIG: _That sucks._

YOU:_so tell me another fact about yo fine self_

CRAIG: _I hate Christmas. _

YOU: _wow really_

CRAIG: _Yep. Hate it. Your turn._

I want to ask him why, but I know he isn't going to tell me so I shrug it off for now. I'll find out soon enough, I'm sure.

YOU: _when i was 8 i went to a music school in romania_

CRAIG: _That's interesting._

He probably doesn't find it all that interesting. Hell, I don't even find it all that interesting. Maybe the boring one here is me.

* * *

Bebe comes over later on in the day. "Hey, your mum let me in," she says, holding up a brown paper bag. She brings me McDonalds and as I eat it, she goes downstairs to grab acetaminophen and a glass of water.

"Here," she hands me the two. I down the pills with the water and thank her.

"How's your head?" she asks.

"Hurts," I pout.

"Want a cold cloth?" she offers.

"Ah, you're too good to me," I tell her. After I'm done the burger, I lie back down. She gets rid of the garbage and puts the cloth on my forehead before lying down next to me.

"You'll feel better soon now that you've got some food and drink in you," she says.

"Why are you so damn good to me?" I wonder.

"I'm good to you because you deserve it," she says, playing with my hair.

"Do I?" I wonder, closing my eyes and letting myself get lost in the movements of her hands.

"Yes," she insists. "We may have a strange relationship and people may not understand it, but it works for what it is. I love you and you love me. It's a different kind of love, but it _is_ love."

"Yeah," I whisper.

"You treat me well," she adds. "Better than any other guy I've been with. You're gentle, you're kind… you don't say stupid things. You're sensitive. You're not afraid to cry. You're not afraid to let me peg you…" She chuckles after the last comment.

I let out a tired laugh. "Felt good," I admit.

"You make a pretty girl," she continues. "I like that you'll shamelessly wear dresses."

"Heh," I snicker. In the wise words of Eric Cartman, everyone wants to be a chick sometimes. He knows this just as well as I do.

"Mm," she muses. "I remember thinking you were gorgeous the first time I saw you without your parka on. I got so used to seeing you wearing it, I almost forgot you had a face. You were just a pair of bright, blue eyes. Because of that, I was never really curious as to what you might've looked like. Wendy told me that Stan told her you were blond… but that's all I really knew."

"I was self-conscious," I say. It's true. I was malnourished. That changed as I got older. Stan began to notice. I was withering away, but he put a stop to it. He kept me fed. It's embarrassing, but I'm thankful for him. My parents have smartened up over the years. Yeah, they're still dealers and druggies and assholes, but at least they keep us fed. It's funny… Stan noticed me withering away but he never noticed the same thing happening to Kyle. Maybe he just didn't want to.

"I know you were," Bebe says softly. "You've had a hard time of things, but you're still one of the best people around. You never let the bad things get to you… You're kind of my hero, you know."

"Am I?"

"Yeah."

"That's really nice, Bebe," I say, genuinely.

I feel her kiss the corner of my mouth before going back to playing with my hair. "I like taking care of you. I'm not saying you need to be taken care of, but there are times when it's reassuring."

"Yeah," I agree.

"When we were fourteen, I saw you for the first time. It's weird. I mean, I've known you for most of my life and I never saw you. I remember that day. It was an overnight fieldtrip to Denver. Sports or something, right? All the boys were acting up and running through the hotel hallways… The teachers were trying to get them back into their rooms, but they were rowdy. Then there was you. You were just standing there, watching your friends act like idiots. You had pyjama pants on and a grey t-shirt with holes in it, yet you looked like some ethereal being. Your hair was wild and blond. Your skin was bronzed. Your eyes were the bluest blue. I felt my lips part and I just stared. I should have known who you were by the eyes, but I didn't, so I asked Wendy. She said she didn't know, so I just kept watching. Stan, Kyle and Eric returned a few minutes later. Stan threw an arm around you and said your name. Kenny. Then the teacher shoved you all back into your room. I was taken aback."

I can't help but chuckle. "You make me sound like an angel or something."

"Oh, you're no angel," she chuckles along with me. "But I swear, for a minute I thought you might've been. I just couldn't believe that you were who you were. I couldn't believe I had been fawning over the little pervert Kenny McCormick."

"Heh…"

"I was really happy when you asked me out," she continues. "I wanted you to. You were pretty and new and I wanted to know you. Wendy warned me against it. She said you had a bad rep. You were a bad boy. You lost your virginity at age twelve and she told me time and time again to be careful. I wasn't swayed. I was determined. I wanted to get to know you. Now that I do, I'm so incredibly glad. You're a beautiful person, inside and out."

"So are you," I say, opening my eyes slightly and glancing at her through my lashes.

She is smiling. "You're sweet."

I smile back at her before closing my eyes again.

"I don't want to sound shallow," she says.

"You don't sound shallow."

"When you start to love someone, their looks begin to melt away," she says. "It's something I never used to understand. I think I'd still adore you even if you suddenly gained fifty pounds of fat and had warts on your face."

I snicker at that. "It won't happen."

"But if it did… I'd still feel the way I feel now. You'll still be beautiful to me. You'll always be beautiful. I think we're soul mates. I don't think soul mates are always a romantic thing. It's just… the perfect friendship. Two kindred spirits. I think that's us. I think that's our kind of love."

"Why are you saying all this stuff?" I murmur.

"We can talk more later on," she promises. "I'm sorry I'm keeping you awake."

"It's fine," I tell her.

"Sleep for now," she insists.

"Bebe?" I say her name.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I love you."

She takes the cloth off and kisses my forehead. "I love you, too," she says, turning the cloth onto the cold side and putting it back on my brow. She lies down again, her head resting against my shoulder. She says nothing more and I feel myself dozing off.


	3. KB: Count to ten and breathe

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thank you all for the nice reviews :) **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

Deep down, I know it's not normal. I know it, but I can't stop. I can admit it to myself, but when someone else says it I just get angry. I wish I wasn't this way, but I can't help it. It's just something I need to do.

I stare into the sink, down at the running water. My hands are starting to hurt but I still can't stop. Why? I don't know.

Stan is shouting at me again. "Get the fuck out, Kyle!" he demands. He doesn't understand that I can't. He doesn't understand.

It's fairly early. I've decided that if everyone is going to be hung over, we should probably postpone the homework until Sunday. Stan is hung over and that means he's in a worse mood than usual. He got sick last night and nearly missed the toilet in Kevin's house. Cartman thought that was absolutely hilarious. I didn't think it was so funny. I took care of Stan for the night and he fell asleep on my lap. Poor Stan. I woke him up an hour later and told him I'd take him home but he begged me not to. That's why we're at my house. My mother got angry when I dragged Stan through the door. She knew he was drunk. It was all too obvious. "I have half a mind to call his mother," she snapped. I straight up told her it wouldn't have made a difference because Stan's parents are too busy with each other right now. They're fighting a lot, Stan says. That's why he didn't want to go home and that's why my mom excused the drinking. Thankfully, I was mostly sober.

Stan says my house is quieter and I found that funny because my house isn't very quiet. My mom yells a lot and she's always frantic. My dad is always talking on the phone to clients and arranging appointments. Ike always reads his reports out loud to himself. But I suppose all of that is better than having to listen to your own parents yell hate-words at each other. I don't think I could handle it if my parents started doing that. I think I'd just cry.

Speaking of crying, I'm horrifically embarrassed that I got so upset in front of Cartman, Stan and Kenny about the alphabetical order of my books. I'm glad Cartman didn't laugh at me for it. I think that would have made everything worse. Cartman is an awful person. I don't know why he thought that would be funny. It wasn't funny.

Ever since the dumb ass ruined my shelf, I've been repeatedly checking it to make sure it's in correct order. I'm so worried something will happen. I don't think I could handle that.

"KYLE BROFLOVSKI GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE BATHROOM RIGHT NOW OR I'LL COME IN THERE AND FORCE YOU OUT!" Stan snaps loudly, probably making his headache worse. "Your mother told me the painkillers are in the bathroom cabinet so let me the fuck in!"

He's worked up. If he doesn't calm down my mom is going to tell him to leave. She'll tell him to collect himself and she'll grab her keys and drive him home. He'll probably puke in the car and she'll get angrier than she already is. No one wants to see my mom at her maddest. I hate seeing it. I hate it. I don't want her to get angry and have to yell at Stan because I'll have to hear it. I don't even want to hear it… Fuck, I need to stop thinking about it.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

I turn the taps off and dry my hands before turning the light switch off, tapping it twice and leaving the bathroom.

"Fucking finally," Stan snaps, turning the light back on and sifting through the medicine cabinet. He grabs the Tylenol and dry swallows two pills.

"Stop yelling…" I tell him, quietly returning to my bedroom. I take a bottle of lotion from my nightstand and pour a thumbprint sized bead of it into the palm of my hand before placing it back in its spot. I moisturize my hands and try to get rid of the painful feeling.

Stan walks in a moment later. "Sorry," he murmurs. He sits down on my bed and his eyes narrow. "What the fuck is this?" he snaps, grabbing my wrists and examining my hands.

"What?" I ask.

"Your hands…" he says in a murmur, staring down at them.

I get self-conscious. I curl my fingers to form fists and say, "Stop staring." I rip my hands out of his iron grip and close my eyes.

"They're bleeding," he mentions. "That's not normal…"

"Shut up."

"Dude… washing your hands until they're cracked is a fuckin' problem."

"No, it's not," I insist. I open my eyes and stare down at them. How ugly…

"See?" he sighs. "Even you don't believe yourself. Deep down, you _know_ it's a problem."

"Shut up," I tell him again. "Let's do something."

We go downstairs and play on the Xbox for a while. When my mother announces that it's dinner time, she invites Stan to stay and eat with us. He accepts and dinner is awkward. My parents talk about school. They ask about grades and upcoming projects. "School just started…" I remind them, shifting food around on my plate. "I didn't get any grades back yet."

"Well, he sure to tell us when you do," my mom says.

"I will," I promise. I suddenly feel anxious.

* * *

After eating, I tell Stan to go upstairs and say I'll follow him in a few minutes.

"Mom?"

"What is it, Bubbelah?" she asks offhandedly as she tidies the kitchen. Ike is doing the dishes. I don't like to. I hate getting wet food all over my hands.

"Stan is staying over again tonight…" I mention.

"Okay," she says, "but only because it's a weekend." I think she realizes that he doesn't want to be home right now.

I nod and then follow Stan upstairs. It's almost 6PM now and I begin having unpleasant thoughts again. I pause in the doorway and close my eyes. "Stop…" I mutter to myself, hitting myself in the head repeatedly. Suddenly it feels stuffy.

"Kyle…?" Stan says my name, raising an eyebrow at me from his seat on my bed.

"Be right back," I announce. I turn around and go to the bathroom. I turn on the light, lock the door and face the sink. I turn on the taps and press the soap dispenser twice, lathering my hands before rinsing them. I watch the water stream over my hands and I feel like I can breathe again. Once the soap is gone, I dry my hands and then press the soap dispenser two more times, rinsing them off yet again. I do this over and over and over and over until I feel just so.

When I return to my room, I instruct Stan to turn around. He does so and I take off my sweater and put on a long-sleeved shirt that I use for sleeping. I take off my khakis and put on a pair of plaid pajama pants, and then Stan watches me make the bed. He rolls his eyes and takes his jeans off so he's left in boxer shorts and his t-shirt.

"You can borrow pyjamas," I offer.

"Nah, it's fine," he insists.

Once the bed is made, I gesture for him to get in first. I turn off the lights, tap it twice and get in after him.

"Why do you do that thing?" he asks, rolling to face me.

"What thing?"

"Tapping the light switch."

"I don't know," I admit. "I just want to make sure they're off all the way."

"They are, though… They always are. You don't need to check. It's not even just the light switches, it's everything! You make your bed before you sleep in it… Who the hell does that? You arrange your books alphabetically and cry when they get messed up. You wash your hands for hours. I mean… don't you realize what a waste of time all of that shit is?"

I close my eyes, not wanting to look at him. "Never mind it, Stan. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"It's retarded, Kyle…"

"Shut up," I tell him. I don't want him to be angry. He just doesn't understand. I can't make him understand. He doesn't listen.

"No," he says.

"Yes."

"No. Just admit it. Say you have a fucking problem."

I open my eyes. "It's not easy, Stan! It's not fun!"

"Then stop," he suggests, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"I. Fucking. Can't!" I shout a little too loudly.

"But why?" he asks.

I let out a sigh. "I don't know why."

"Think about it – you probably do know."

"I don't!" I shout again.

He clicks his tongue and relents. "Tsk, fine…"

He rolls over so I'm forced to stare at his back. "Are you mad?" I ask quietly. I hate when people are angry with me.

"No," he says warily.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he insists. "I never get mad at you."

"Really?"

"Really."

* * *

The following morning, I wake up before Stan and take a shower. I wash my hair with shampoo and wash my body with soap, then dry off. I wrap the towel around my waist and go back to my room, where Stan is still unconscious. Good. I hate being seen changing. That's why gym class is always the worst. I sift through my closet and pull out a t-shirt and jeans before throwing them on.

I hear Stan let out a groan that lets me know he just woke up. "Kyle?" he murmurs groggily.

Fuck. "Yes?" I say evenly, glancing at him. He still looks tired and his face is growing stubbly.

"Are Kenny and Cartman coming over?" he asks.

"That's the plan," I tell him.

"Mm'kay," he mumbles, forcing himself into a sitting position.

Once I'm dressed I grab my phone from my nightstand and shoot them both a text message, telling them to come over when they can. "You can go ahead and shower if you want," I say. "Or get yourself a bowl of cereal."

"Okay," Stan says. He gets out of bed and stretches his limbs before leaving the room. I follow him downstairs, where my mom greets us with a somewhat suppressed look.

"Stan," she starts, "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Good," he says, forcing a sheepish smile. "Sorry for causing trouble yesterday and the night before that."

She sighs and waves a dismissive hand. "You're never trouble, dear." She doesn't stay upset with Stan. I think she looks at him like a third son, which is also why she yells at him so much.

"Thanks, Sheila."

We both have cereal for breakfast and as we're seated at the table, the doorbell rings. My mom goes to answer it and brings Kenny with her when she returns. "Hey, guys," he greets. "Stan, nice outfit. You certainly look ready for the day," he adds, amused. He's wrapped in his familiar parka yet again.

Stan rolls his eyes. "I haven't been home and Kyle's clothes probably won't fit me. He's shorter."

"Sucks," Kenny says with little sympathy.

"Where's stupid Cartman?" I ask.

Kenny snickers. "I have no clue, dude."

Once Stan is finished his cereal, he puts the bowl in the dish washer and says, "I'm going to have a shower… because I think I desperately need it."

I simply nod, watching him go upstairs and when I turn my head, Kenny is grinning at me.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing," he sings mischievously.

I roll my eyes at him and stare down at my cereal bowl. "Why do you always do that?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"Act all weird and insist that it's nothing…"

He just smiles at me. "I don't know. Why do _you_ do it?"

I let out a sharp sigh and decide that I'm full. I discard my bowl and leave the kitchen. Kenny follows me upstairs and into my room, flopping onto my unmade bed.

"Kyle… you _are_ eating, aren't you?" he asks carefully.

"Yeah," I tell him mechanically. "I'm eating."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Kenny."

"I don't want you to get sick again…" he whispers. "Stan doesn't want you to get sick again, either."

For a moment, I just smile at him. "I was never sick," I tell him.

"You were, Kyle. We were fifteen and you were so fucking small. Do you remember what happened? You fell and you just broke… All you did was fall, but you broke your arm. That's not normal, Kyle… Bones aren't supposed to break like that. I can't watch it happen again, I fucking can't. You –"

"Stop." I cut him off, not wanting to hear him tell me what he thinks I am and am not. "I'm fine… I was fine…" I mumble the words, not knowing which is true. Maybe neither of them is true. "Never sick. Always fine… I'm normal."

"Just fucking listen to yourself," he scoffs warily. "You're trying so hard to convince yourself it's true, aren't you? You're not perfect… but you want to be."

"Fuck off, Kenny," I say.

"No."

I reach for my nightstand and open the drawer, grabbing the half empty package of cigarettes. I take one, lighting it.

"Why the hell do you smoke those damn things?" Kenny asks. "Your mother would destroy you if she found out."

"You smoke them, too," I point out. Besides, I don't think my mom would chastise me about smoking when there are more important things at hand for her these days.

"You have one life, Kyle," he notes. "I have an infinite amount."

"Fuck. Off." I say once more, with more intent.

He shakes his head, not at all swayed by my tone. "How much do you weigh?"

"I'm a hundred and fifteen pounds," I say. "For a male that is five foot four, that's fine."

Kenny opens his mouth to respond but Stan enters a few, wet and wrapped in a towel. I share a look with Kenny and we both know the conversation is finished; however, I have a feeling we'll pick it up again eventually.

"I, uh… have no clothes," Stan says. "I might have to squeeze into yours."

I wander towards my closet and give him my baggiest t-shirt. "Here," I say. "This will fit…" He pulls it on and it fits well. I continue sifting through my things to try and find a pair of loose fitting sweatpants. "Uh…" I pause, picking up a pair of sweatpants that are a size too big. "These… They did used to be yours... they might still fit?"

He takes them and holds them up. "We'll see…" he murmurs, shamelessly dropping the towel.

I flush, while Kenny laughs and then whistles. "Nice butt, Stud."

Stan flips him off, but he's laughing, too. He pulls the pants on and asks, "They're kinda tight…"

"You can't tell. They look fine," I tell him.

"I'll wash them and give 'em back to you sometime this week."

"Okay, no rush."

I hear the doorbell ring again and I hear the door open. "Cartman must be here," I say.

"Yeah," Kenny nods.

There are loud, stomping footsteps coming up the stairs and a moment later, Cartman swings open the door. "Howdy, bitches," he greets us.

"Cartman," I tersely greet him in return. "Since we're all here, let's get to work."


	4. SM: Spin the bottle

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thank you, lovely reviewers! :)**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Tuesday now. Kenny got detention for fighting during lunch break. What a fuckin' champ. He's always getting himself into shit, whether it's with teachers or cops. It's always authority figures. I think he has a little problem with authority figures. The cops don't hate Kenny, though. In their words, he's just a trouble maker. It's true enough. He has a good heart and he'll bear it to anyone, even the people who aren't worth it.

We are in English class right now. Kenny is fellating a sucker while staring at the teacher as she lectures. She seems distressed. I don't even think Kenny realizes what he's doing, so I nudge him.

"Dude… you might wanna stop that," I whisper.

"What?" He raises a brow, taking the sucker out of his mouth.

"You do realize what that looks like, don't you?" I ask. Then I decide to give him a visual. I curl my hand into a fist and make like I'm brushing my teeth. When my hand nears my mouth I tongue my cheek, giving him the cock-sucking visual. "Like you've got a knob in your mouth," I laugh.

"Oh," Kenny snickers quietly. "You're pretty good at that, Stan. Been practising?"

I just roll my eyes. Kenny likes candy almost as much as Cartman. Suckers are his favourite. He likes to have things in his mouth. He calls it his oral fixation and then winks.

"Quiet back there," the teacher warns us. She sounds tired and a little pathetic.

* * *

During our free period, all the dumbass kids decide to play spin the bottle in an empty classroom. Naturally, Kenny is all for it.

"What are we? Twelve years old?" Kyle snaps. He, on the other hand, is not so into the idea of touching lips with the other kids.

"It's a game, Kyle," Kenny says, patting his shoulder. "It's fun."

"I don't want to play," he says. "I hate those juvenile games."

"Just give 'er a try," I add. "What's the harm?"

So, we drag Kyle with us to the room, where there's a circle of other seniors who have the same free period. Wendy and Bebe wave us towards them and we all squeeze together.

"I feel so fucking nostalgic," I admit with a little chuckle.

"I know, right?" Wendy giggles.

Lola is the first to spin. It lands on Jason and the two of them share a brief peck. No spit. From there, it goes clockwise. Next is Annie, then Heidi, Jason, Butters, Sally and finally it's my turn. My hand is shaky slightly and I'm afraid I might get someone I desperately don't want to touch lips with... Like Wendy. Nonetheless, I give it a spin and who does it land on? Kenny motherfuckin' McCormick, who is sitting next to Kyle. This will, surprisingly, be the day's _first_ same sex kiss.

I glance at him and I can't help but think back to what Wendy said. Experiment, right? What's the harm? So I shrug off the awkward thoughts and lean across Kyle to meet Kenny, who is seated next to him. We share a few sloppy, open mouthed kiss before tonguing it and a few of the guys whistle tauntingly.

"Hot damn," Clyde laughs. "Things are getting' heated between McCormick and Marsh."

Bebe and Wendy snicker after me and Kenny break apart.

"You're a good kisser," I tell him, winking.

"You too, babe," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Kyle looks somewhat disdainful. I'm not quite sure why. It's his turn now and he says, "I don't want to."

"C'mon, Kyle," I say, probably peer pressuring him. "We're all doing it."

He puffs up his cheek and relents, reaching forward and spinning the bottle. "Fuckin' hell, I've been swayed by peer pressure," he murmurs. It lands on Bebe and he gives Kenny a strange look, as if he's asking permission.

"Go for it, dude," Kenny says.

Bebe gives Kyle a kind smile as she moves towards him. She probably senses his timidity. They share a chaste kiss and I say, "See? It's nice, right?" I can't help but wonder if Kyle has kissed anyone since the first time he kissed Bebe in my old clubhouse. That was so long ago. Kissing is nice. It's innocent.

Now it's Kenny's turn. He spins it and the bottle points to Butters. Wendy spins and it points to Annie. Bebe spins and it points to Clyde, who looks like he's on cloud nine as Bebe gives him a very generous smooch. Kenny is smiling at the sight. I _really_ don't get how he can share his girlfriend and not get jealous. I don't get how Bebe can share Kenny and not get jealous. Their relationship is so strange. I never understood it, but it seems to work for them and I guess that's what really matters.

Kiss after kiss happens and when it's my turn again, the bottle lands on Wendy. Fuck. I stare at her for a minute and she crawls over to me, giving me a peck on the corner of my mouth. Once again, fuck.

It's now Kyle's turn and who does the bottle point to? Me. He's so rigid I'm somewhat worried. "We don't have to, if you don't want…" I tell him quietly.

He shakes his head. "It's fine," he says. He leans forward and puts a hand on my cheek. The kiss is brief and nowhere near as spitty as the kiss with Kenny was, but it still feels important. I don't know why. Maybe because Kyle is important.

"Sweet," Bebe coos.

What a weird day this has been thus far. The bell rings a few minutes later and Kenny stands up before offering to help Bebe up. She takes his hand and he pulls her to her feet. They begin making out after and it's a bit weird to watch. Me and Kyle stand up a moment later. "Hurry or you'll be late," I warn Kenny and Bebe to wrap things up before leaving and walking to last period with Kyle.

All I can do is thank Christ that Cartman doesn't have the same free as us. Imagine having to kiss him? Ew.

* * *

After school, Kyle and I find Kenny before he can get himself into another fight. After we grab him, we meet Cartman in front of the school and walk home. We tell him about the game of spin the bottle and he laughs.

"Who'd you all hafta kiss?" he asks.

"I kissed Kenny, Wendy and Kyle," I snicker.

"Gay," Cartman chortles. "Musta been fuckin' awkward since you got dumped by the hippie bitch."

"Don't call her that, Tits," I snap.

He dismisses me. "What about you, poor boy?"

"Stan and Butters," Kenny snorts.

"Jew?"

"Bebe and Stan," Kyle informs, the words muffled by the cigarette between his lips.

"Glad I don't have my free at the same time as you fags," Cartman says. "I'm so not looking to gay it up with you losers."

"I think we're all pretty fucking happy you weren't there," Kyle agrees tartly.

Cartman then smiles deviously. "Then again… maybe it would've been fun. How would you feel about me kissing your ex-girlfriend, Stan?"

"You like her or something?" I ask, raising a brow.

"No," he insists. "I just think you'd hate it… Plus, I guess the bitch is hot."

"She's beautiful," I correct, "and not a bitch."

Cartman rolls his eyes.

I laugh, recalling a certain piece of information. "Dude, you do realize Wendy is part Arab, right?" I ask, fully aware of his many racist thoughts.

"What?" he snaps.

"Uh, yeah. She's fluent in Arabic. Her maternal grandmother is Middle Eastern."

"Oh, Christ," he murmurs.

Kyle rolls his eyes, throwing his cigarette onto the slushy pavement. "Racist fuck."

* * *

Kyle comes home with me. After we part ways with Kenny and Cartman, he asks, "Do you think it's weird?"

"Do I think what's weird?" I wonder.

"The fact that we kissed? Or that you kissed Kenny?" he specifies.

"Not really," I say. "If you asked me a year ago I'd probably think yeah, but nah. It's not weird." I guess I'll thank Wendy for that.

"Okay," he murmurs as we near my doorstep. "We're friends, right?" he asks.

"No, we're _best_ friends," I say, pausing and turning to him. "What's this about?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing."

"Kyle…"

"Really," he insists, smiling. "It's nothing."

"All right," I relent softly, finally opening the door. We walk inside and I don't bother announcing our arrival.

"Are your parents here?" Kyle asks.

"I don't know," I admit. "But it's pretty quiet, so I'm gonna go ahead and say probably not."

Kyle gives me a sympathetic look. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I tell him. "It's just fucking annoying… I hate being home."

"Well, you're always welcome at my house."

I snicker at that. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He gives me a pointed stare. "My mom isn't going to force you to leave if you're having family trouble. She's a bit… extreme… but she's not heartless."

"Okay," I chuckle. "Thanks, Kyle."

"Sure, Stan."

"Want a bite to eat or something?" I offer.

"No, I'm –" he starts, but after the _no_, I cut him off.

"I'll make us something to eat," I insist. I walk into the kitchen and he lets out a sigh, following me.

"Fine," he says. He sits down at the table and I make a sandwich on a hoagie roll, cutting it through the middle and offering Kyle half of it.

I sit across from him and he looks at me accusingly. "I know what you're thinking, Stanley Randall Marsh," he states. "You're thinking, '_Is he going to eat it? Will he finish it_?' Right?"

Guilty. "Yeah," I murmur.

He opens his mouth and takes a bite as if proving a point. "See? I'm eating."

"Right," I mumble. "Okay."

"It's always on your mind, isn't it?" he asks after swallowing.

"Yeah," I admit.

"Well, it shouldn't be. I'm fine."

"I can't help it, Kyle," I say. Yeah, he looks good now. He looks healthy, but I'm still worried he'll fall back into bad habits. It's always in the front of my mind. "I care about you… I fuckin' love you. You're my best friend."

"I know, Stan," he replies.

For a few minutes, we say nothing more. We just eat silently. I finish my plate and so does Kyle. I wonder why his eating used to be so…_disordered_. Sometimes I think it's all Sheila's fault. She controls the lives of both her sons, trying hard to mould them into perfect little men. Ike just seems to deal with it better. He just… goes with the flow. Then again, I know I'm not supposed to throw around blame like this. It doesn't fix anything.

The hand washing and other stuff got worse after Kyle got better. Maybe the eating has something to do with it. I don't know. I never really understood this kind of thing. I did a little research, though. It sounds like he definitely has obsessive compulsive disorder. Apparently it's not something that can be controlled, so I should probably try being a little more sensitive about it. I read that OCD is found in a lot of people with eating problems, though they're not necessarily connected… but maybe, in Kyle's case, they are.

I take the plates, put them in the dish washer and the two of us go upstairs. As we reach the top, I see my parents' bedroom door open at the end of the hallway.

"One sec," I murmur to Kyle as I approach the room. Inside, my mother is in bed. I move closer and stare at her. She looks like she's been crying and I feel my heart sink. "Mom?" I call softly, shaking her.

She opens her eyes a moment later. "Hi, sweetheart…"

"Where's Dad?" I ask, voice wavering because I already know the answer. "Is he at work…?"

"No, honey," she says sadly. "He's not at work… Your father... He left."

"Oh," I whisper. I turn around and walk back into the hallway in somewhat of a daze. I go to my own room, where Kyle is sitting cross legged on my bed.

"Stan…?" He frowns, probably realizing something is very wrong. "What is it?"

"My dad left," I murmur. I let out a few breaths and rub my hands down my face. I think it's only beginning to sink in.

Kyle looks apologetic, but he doesn't speak.

"Fuck…" I say before shouting it, "Fuck!" Then my eyes start watering and Kyle doesn't hesitate to approach me. Not a word leaves his mouth before he wraps his arms around me and not a word leaves his mouth after either. My mom can probably hear me, but I don't care. I want her to.


	5. KM: When the pieces shatter

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**I always make Karen soft spoken and sweet, so I wanted to try something quite different with her this time haha. **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

It's 6PM on a Friday night. I didn't get in any fights today. When I arrive home, I walk upstairs and see that the bathroom door is open. I peek inside and see Karen doing her hair. "Where are you going?" I ask her. She's still wearing the clothes she had on in school - jeans and a plain, old t-shirt.

"To Ruby's," she says. I know that's a lie because if she was just going to Ruby's house, she wouldn't be curling her hair. She's probably going to a party and then crashing at Ruby's.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, carefully watching herself in the mirror so she doesn't burn herself on the curling iron. "Last time I was there, Craig had a few friends over."

"Friends?" I ask. "Like Clyde and Token?"

"No, Kenny," she smiles a strange sort of smile, like she knows a secret. "Not those kinds of friends."

"Then… who?" I pry, feeling strangely curious.

"Ruby says Craig's like a _super_-slut," Karen reveals with a little giggle. "Apparently one of Thomas's old drinking buddies took advantage of him a few years back. Now she says he has people over a lot and they all have orgies in his bedroom. She says their daddy don't care. He just ignores the things his kids do. When Craig has _friends_ over, he ignores the moaning and shouting. I wasn't able to ignore it so easily. He sounds like he's quite the aggressive fuck."

I grimace. How can Thomas sit idle and let Craig do that kind of shit?

"I thought it was funny," Karen continues. "Craig is so stoic, I think I'd like to see that side of him. I'd like to see what was happening on the other side of his bedroom door."

"Don't get any ideas," I warn her.

She smiles again. "Don't worry, Kenny. I won't fuck your friend… but you want to fuck him, don't you? I don't blame you. He's a nice looking boy."

"No," I say… but maybe I'm lying. Maybe I do want to fuck him.

She shrugs dismissively. "Ruby is no different, though. So, she can't really trash talk her brother too much."

"Lovely," I say sarcastically, mildly disturbed I'm having this conversation with my sister.

"Ruby said she'd fuck you," Karen continues. "She thinks you're pretty. She likes pretty boys. I told her that was fucking gross 'cause you're my brother and shit."

"Plus, she's fuckin' fifteen," I say. "I wouldn't fuck a fifteen year old."

Karen giggles some more.

"How does she even know what I look like?" I ask. Even in the summertime, I make sure I'm hidden.

"Once when she stayed over here, she saw you crossing the hallway from your bedroom to the bathroom. That was a few months back. She fawned over you for a good twenty minutes."

"You're talkative today," I note.

"I just feel like sharing secrets with my favourite big brother," she says somewhat cynically.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure that's it… I just think you like getting a rise out of people. You like to shock."

"You're right," she admits. "I do love it." Karen has changed a lot over the years. She never used to say much. She was a quiet child, but she's growing up. High school does hellish things to a person. We all learn eventually. "Do you know what Ruby Tucker is addicted to?" she asks me.

"No, what?"

"Lying," she explains. "She lies and she lies and she lies. Last year she told me about Craig's fuck buddies, but I didn't believe her until I heard it because I know how much she loves lying. Who knows if the other stuff she says about him is true, though. I think it gives her a thrill. It gives her a power rush, especially when people believe the lies she tells. She says once she's got someone trapped, it's like her mind has an orgasm. It's not physical; it's purely a mental kind of pleasure. Like brain fucking someone and completely dominating them. She says that to tell a good lie, you need to convince yourself it could be true."

"Hm," I murmur. I don't know why, but the thought of Craig in the midst of an orgy is ultimately unsettling. I don't really want to imagine it but I can't help it.

Karen smiles again, that same strange smile. "You're picturing it, aren't you? Perv."

"What?" I ask, slightly annoyed.

"Your head is full of Craig," she says. "You're picturing him getting fucked right now, aren't you? You dirty, little pervert. What does he look like? Do you wish it was you instead of a group of strangers? Do you want him all to yourself?"

"Fucking hell, Karen," I hiss. "I'm not having this conversation with my little sister. Shit."

"What do you like about Craig Tucker?" she pries.

"I don't know," I mumble.

"Yes, you do." She finishes curling her hair and unplugs the iron. "You like the fact that he's unattainable. That's why you want to get to know him. He's a big ol' mystery and you love those kinds of games. Play your cards right and he'll fall fast. That's the plan, right?"

"It's not…" I say. "I just want to get to know him." Fuck it, now I'm the one lying. It's definitely a love game.

"Sure, you do," she says with a scoff. "That's how it all starts, isn't it? You want to get to know a person. Why? Because they catch your attention. When you learn peoples' secrets, you can't help but learn to love them. You better be careful, dear brother. He might fall for you, but if you're not there to catch him the pieces are going to shatter."

"They'll shatter anyway," I say with a wary sigh.

Karen gives me a look of amusement before getting out a makeup bag from the drawer. She pulls out eyeshadows and powders and lipsticks and begins painting herself. It's like fine art. I've always thought there was something magical about make up. Sometimes, when I'm in the mood, I'll put on dresses and put on a wig and let Bebe do my makeup. A lot of the guys find it funny, but a lot of the girls think it's admirable. The first time I did it, no one believed it was me. I make a convincingly cute girl, believe it or not.

"He might take you down with him," she warns offhandedly, getting close to the mirror. Her movements are precise. She's done this many times before.

"Yeah, right," I snort.

"Ruby says Craig is philophobic," Karen says.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I ask.

"He's afraid of love… falling in love," she explains. "Craig has a lot of problems. He's all hopped up on these pills that he hopes will make him normal, but they don't work anymore. He's been overmedicated, like so many kids 'round here. I think he's burnt out now. He has a hard time feeling certain things and there are also things he's too afraid to feel. He's careful only to fuck around with the people who won't linger. That way he won't get attached. It never ends well when you get attached to something, especially when that _something_ is a person. Even after he falls in love, he will probably allow himself to be the kind of person who belongs to everyone because it's easier than belonging to just one. Love is indeed a scary thing. For people like Craig, it's a pain worse than death… So I'll say it again: be careful."

What a mouthful. "Why is Craig like that?" I ask.

"Ask him," Karen suggests.

"But you know, don't you?" I assume. I can tell by the way she's speaking.

"I know all," she says confidently, sounding a bit like me.

"Then just tell me," I demand warily.

"No," she sings.

"Why the hell not?" I growl.

"It's more fun this way."

"You seem to know everything in the world," I tell her somewhat bitterly.

"When you're quiet, you learn things," she says. "You know that as well as I do. There are things you just like to pretend you aren't aware of. Craig isn't that much of a mystery, you know. Sure, he's kind of psychotic… but in the end he's just another dumb kid with a story. This town is full of them as well as stupid winos, junkies, whores. They make the world go 'round."

Karen has a bad habit of talking down to people. She even does it to me. I'm the reason she is the way she is. Personality-wise, she's like my fucking carbon copy, though perhaps a little colder. Funny, she used to be so sweet. "Fucking hell, Karen," I sigh. "You're so patronizing sometimes. You think you're the fucking queen of the world. You're not. You're just another one of those dumb kids with a dumb story."

She shrugs and finishes putting on her makeup. She smacks her red lips a few times in the mirror and says, "I don't care. Come help me pick a dress."

"You're so not going to Ruby's, you little liar," I call her out as I follow her to her room.

"I am, though," she says. "We're just going to a party first." She holds up a red, strapless dress. "This?"

"No." I sift through her closet and pick her most modest dress. "This one."

She laughs. "What am I, a nun?" She takes the dress of the hanger and tosses it on the floor. She then holds up a tight, black dress that looks a little short.

I let out a sigh and leave the room as she gets dressed. I walk back to mine and check my cellphone for messages. None. I'm unpopular today. I flop onto my bed and sigh. Karen shows up in my doorway a minute later, wearing that short, black dress along with some fishnet tights and a pair of black flats. "How do I look?" she asks, spinning around.

"Like a hooker in the making," I tell her.

"Fuck you," she says.

I just laugh. "You look nice, Karen. Not at all like a hooker." She waves me off and runs down the stairs. I hear the front door swing open and she's gone.

I decide to shoot Craig a text and make him tell me a truth.

YOU_: fact of the day…?_

A few minutes later, he replies with –

CRAIG T: _My birthday is January 25__th__._

I snicker to myself. I should probably write it down. This week I've learned that Craig hates sweet things, he's a bit misanthropic, a movie buff, he's good at sewing, he can cook, and sometimes he watches anime with Clyde and Kevin. I thought the last one was funny.

YOU: _cool mines on march 22_

CRAIG T: _Great, but that doesn't count._

YOU: _fine i dont think ill attend uni_

CRAIG T: _Why not?_

YOU: _dont wanna_

CRAIG T: _Fair enough._

I just don't see a point in it, to be frank. I'll get a mundane job and I'll probably be content with it. I don't crave excitement the way some people do. I rather enjoy monotony. Hell, I guess I sound like Craig.

* * *

I decide to hang out with Bebe later on. I walk to her house and when I arrive, I take my parka off. We kiss and she leads me upstairs, where we fuck each other's brains out. It's nice to have sex with someone who loves you. You can always feel it. Craig is missing out. Emotionless fucks aren't all they're cracked up to be. I've learned that. Now I only fuck good friends and lovers.

"That was nice," Bebe sighs as we lay side by side.

"Yeah," I agree. "By the way, what was it that you wanted to talk about last weekend?" I ask. "I was hung over and you told me we'd talk later but when I mentioned it at school you just shook your head."

"I'm not sure yet," she admits.

"You'll tell me when you're ready?" I assume.

"I will," she says, offering me a smile. "Promise."

"Okay," I say, returning it.

"I just want you to know that I care," she adds, touching one of my cheeks.

"I know you care," I say. "You love me."

"That I do."

"And I love you."

"Yes," she says with a grin. "We're like soul mates."

"Yes," I chuckle. "Kind of like Stan and Kyle."

"You think they're soul mates?" she wonders.

"I know they're soul mates," I insist. "They need each other. I can see them having the kind of relationship we have."

"Me too," she admits. "When they kissed…" she trails off.

"Everyone in the room felt it," I finish her thought.

She nods against the pillow. "Everyone was quiet after it happened."

"I think everyone sees it apart from Stan and Kyle themselves."

"Stan is a touch dense, isn't he?" Bebe laughs. "And Kyle… he's timid."

"Yeah," I say. "They'll figure it all out soon enough. They'll be happy someday. Everything will work out. It always does."

"But first comes tragedy," Bebe adds knowingly.

"Of course," I agree. "Every relationship gets tested."

"What was ours?" she wonders.

"Hm," I muse for a moment. "Perhaps the type of test varies. For us, maybe it's the fact that we can share one another and not go green with envy."

"Yeah," she chuckles. "Perhaps."

* * *

I spend the rest of the night hanging out with Bebe. We don't do much. We just sit around, watch a movie and then we go for a walk. It's nice to spend time like this, not doing anything immensely important.

"What are you thinking about?" Bebe asks.

"Everything," I tell her.

"Naturally," she laughs.

I just smile. "Hey, what do you know about Craig Tucker?" I wonder.

"Craig?" she repeats. "You seem awfully interested in him lately."

"I am," I admit. "He has me curious. He's like a big mystery and I want to solve it."

"Well," she taps her chin. "I'm not really sure, you know. He's a bit antisocial, but you probably know that much. Clyde says he has a lot of problems and he doesn't deal with any of them… but I guess that's normal. Most people don't like to deal with their problems."

"Yeah," I agree sadly. "What problems does he have?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. He's secretive and Clyde doesn't really talk about Craig. I think Craig would be angry if he did. Even though they're best friends, Craig still puts up a wall. He likes to keep people distant, I think. If it was up to Craig, I don't think Clyde would know any of his secrets… Unfortunately, secrets have a habit of coming out. It always happens eventually."

I can't help but agree with that. "I'm playing a game with him," I decide to say.

"A game?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes. I told Craig that he has to tell me one true thing about himself every day. In turn, I'll tell him one true thing about myself."

"How is the game won?" Bebe wonders.

"Whoever stops playing loses," I tell her.

She smirks at me. "It sounds to me," she starts sagely, "that the first one to become attached loses."

"Maybe," I snicker.

"I'm surprised you got Craig to agree to play a game like that," she says.

"Me, too," I admit. "I didn't think he'd go for it, but he surprised me… With people like Craig, it's only a matter of time before they snap. It always happens. No one can stay sane and be that fucking emotionless. It'll overflow soon enough. Walls are meant to be broken."

"Probably," she agrees.

"I want to be around when it comes down," I say. It makes me think back to what Karen said to me earlier. The pieces will shatter. I don't think I'll mind it so much. I'll pick them up.


	6. SM: What a night

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**We're having a big ol' snowstorm today. All schools are closed, even universities. Yay. **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Friday night. I dragged Kyle out and we're at some retarded all age's club. The sign says all ages, but the kids in here are getting pretty fucked. It doesn't matter that we're minors; everyone is drunk and high off their ass, humping on the dance floor and whatever else. Welcome to South Park, where no one gives a shit.

Kyle and I are sitting on a sofa in the lounge room with Clyde, Lola and Wendy. We're allowing Clyde to rant about Bebe. He fucking loves her. I'm kind of drowning him out, though. It gets boring after a while.

"Bebe's a _prime_ goddess," he continues. Blah, blah, blah.

I spot Craig across the room making out with Annie Faulk probably just to spite poor Lola, who has an intense crush on him. Lola and Annie will probably fight about Craig later on and he won't give a damn. He'll just sit back and let the chaos unfold because that's the kind of asshole he is. Annie is sitting on his lap with her arms locked around his neck. He has his hands all over her perky tits and they both look oblivious to everything except themselves… though it's a little obvious that the last thing on Craig's mind is Annie.

Wendy shakes her head at the sight and puts her arm around a solemn looking Lola. She runs her hands through Lola's long, brown hair, but stays silent.

Craig and Annie get up and leave a moment later. They're probably going to fuck in the bathroom. By now Clyde is done ranting about Bebe and we're all uncomfortably quiet.

"I hate her!" Lola exclaims. "How could she do that?"

"She's probably drunk," I say, adding my two cents. "She'll probably apologize tomorrow."

"I don't care," Lola murmurs.

"You will," Wendy says gently.

Lola only sighs, not quite convinced and another uncomfortable silent unfolds. "Kyle, dude, what happened to your hands?" Clyde asks, making it even tenser.

"Nothing," Kyle says defensively, shoving his hands in his sweater pockets.

Everyone shares an awkward look, but Clyde is wise enough not to press the issue.

"Ugh," Lola gets up a few minutes later and Wendy doesn't hesitate to follow her. Me and Clyde share a look before standing and going after the two of them. I drag Kyle along and the group of us climb down the stairs and into the building's basement, where the toilets are located. Lola yanks open the door to the female bathroom and walks inside. Wendy goes in after her and since Clyde, Kyle and I are all dudes, we try not to pass the threshold. I just hold the door open so we don't miss the action. In the bathroom, we see Annie and Craig collecting themselves, looking like they just got done screwing. Annie is adjusting her skirt and Craig is zipping his pants back up.

"Oh, hi, hon," Annie says to Lola. Her tone is astoundingly careless.

"You fucking bitch," Lola whispers to her best friend. "And-and you…" She points at Craig, raising her voice. "You're an asshole! You knew I was into you! You fucking knew and you went and nailed my best friend!"

Craig doesn't say anything. He doesn't look guilty or upset at the accusation. He just looks stoic as ever. Then he smiles, walking past her. It's a very insincere and cold looking smile. It's actually the first time I've seen him wear anything apart from a frown.

"Dude, Craig," I grab his arm and pull him aside. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you pull that kind of stunt?"

"Fuck you, Marsh," he says, brushing me off. "Don't touch me."

"Craig…" Clyde cuts in, disappointment written on every inch of him. "What the fuck, man…? Seriously, why are you being such a dick?"

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry if my hedonism offends you, but I did nothing wrong," he says cynically before scoffing at us and continuing down the hallway.

"Jesus Christ," I murmur. "Why are you friends with him?"

"Sometimes I have no idea," Clyde sighs.

Back in the bathroom, things are getting heated in a bad way between Lola and Annie. Lola grabs a handful of Annie's curly hair and the fight begins. Chick fight. Shiiiit. Wendy tries to separate them but they just shove her and she falls. Punches are thrown a split second later and this is when Clyde and me intervene, pulling the two girls apart. Kyle, meanwhile, helps Wendy stand and the two of them hover near the door.

"C'mon," I say, "is Craig really worth this?"

Lola takes a deep breath, giving up and sinking into me. "No, and you know what?" She looks at Annie and adds, "You're not worth it either." She rips herself from my hold a moment later and leaves. Wendy follows after her. Clyde and I shoot Annie a look of disapproval and Kyle is just standing wide-eyed. I throw an arm around him and we follow the others out with Clyde.

"What a night," he sighs.

"I'll fuckin' say," I snort. "You good, Kyle?"

"Mhm," he murmurs. "It's getting late," he adds. "I'm going to go home."

"Whaaat?" I ask. "It's only," I pause, glancing at me cellphone, "1:30AM."

"That's late, in my standards," he says.

"Want us to walk you home?" I offer.

"No, you don't' have to do that."

"It's fine," Clyde insists. "You're far too pretty to be out there all alone, Mister."

Kyle chuckles. "Got it, got it."

The three of us don't bother meeting back up with the girls. We probably wouldn't be able to offer much condolence for Lola and we'd just get in the way of Wendy trying to comfort her. So, we make our way outside and begin walking to Kyle's house.

"Does Craig always act like that?" I ask Clyde.

"It's an off and on thing," he says somewhat sadly. "He's got a bit worse as time passed, but he's always been a bit insensitive."

"I didn't think he was that mean," Kyle mumbles.

"He can be pretty mean," Clyde says, not bothering to defend his best pal. "He does a lot of things that don't make sense to me, but I'm sure he has a reason for it."

"Or not," I snort. "Maybe he just enjoys being a fucking asshole."

"I really don't know anymore," Clyde sighs. "I don't want to believe that he's really that awful…"

"Has he done something like this before?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah," he tersely admits. "He's a fuckin' champ when it comes to this shit…"

"Who else did he fuck over?"

Clyde wrinkles his nose. "Me."

"What?" I cut in. "Aren't you his best friend?"

"Yeah," he continues, "but things like that don't really matter to Craig. Nothing is taken into account. He just does what he wants to."

"What an ass…" I mutter. "What did he do?"

"When we were fifteen I had a bit of a thing for Red," he says. "Craig found out about it and after tonight, you can probably guess what happened next… He went and fucked her and he made damn sure I knew it was happening… Every time I think he's done the worst thing ever, he finds a way to top himself."

What a fucking dick. Clyde has probably been dying to let out some of this pent up Craig-related anger. It's probably not something he can talk about much since all his friends are also Craig's. Not us, though. "Why don't you hate him?" I wonder aloud.

"I just can't," he says. "I know things about him that kind of make me understand why he's such a shitty guy."

"It doesn't matter what he's been through," I insist. "It doesn't give him the right to be a bad person."

"I know," Clyde admits, "but still… I guess some people just deal with their problems differently. This is how Craig does it. He insists he was doing me a favour because Red's a confrontational bitch… Whatever, she's dating Kevin Stoley now."

"How messy," Kyle adds.

"That's one way of putting it," Clyde concurs.

We arrive at Kyle's house soon enough and then part ways. Clyde and I continue walking. "What does Token think of all this?" I ask.

Clyde only shrugs. "We try not to bad mouth Craig because he's our friend. I mean, I know Token can keep a secret but I'd feel bad nonetheless… I don't want to trash talk Craig to his other friends, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know," I murmur.

"I guess it's still bad that I'm complaining about him to you guys, though," he admits to himself.

"Nah," I shrug. "You're not really saying anything that isn't true."

"I guess," he says with a sigh.

We take the long way, chatting until we arrive to his place and then I continue walking alone. At home, it's quiet. It's been quiet ever since my dad left. It makes me almost miss the yelling, because at least he was here.

He hasn't been back since. I don't even know where he is. My mom has been trying hard to pretend like everything is fine and normal. She's been cooking and cleaning a lot in between work. She never stops moving. It's like she's desperate for a distraction. Shelly is getting fed up. I'm waiting for her to explode at Mom and just tell her to sit the fuck down for five minutes. Hell, I'm getting fed up with it, too. We can't keep ignoring the fact that everything is screwed up. It's not right.

I walk upstairs and change into my pajamas before going to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I return to my room, I flop onto my bed and happily welcome sleep.

* * *

It's Saturday now. I call Kenny and tell him what happened. Afterwards, I text Wendy and ask her how Lola is doing. Wendy messages me back saying Lola is doing fine and is appreciative of my concern. Last night was certainly eventful. I wonder if Lola and Annie will make up. Probably not. If I were in Lola's position, I don't think I would be so forgiving either. If Kyle suddenly went after Wendy…? No way. Fuck that. I can't even picture it.

When I finally force myself to roll out of bed, I find that I'm home alone. Shelly isn't even here, or maybe she's just not awake. That's probably for the best. She's cranky as hell in the early part of the day.

I make myself some food and eat it slowly, wasting time because I don't know what to do with myself. After breakfast, I decide to call Kyle, but he doesn't answer his cellphone. I know he's one to rise early, so he's not still asleep. I call his home phone next and Sheila answers with a, "_Hello_?"

"Hi," I greet. "It's Stan. Is Kyle there?"

"_He is_," she starts, "_but he doesn't want company. He's having a bad day_."

"A bad day?" I ask.

"_He's being a little more, um, introverted than usual_," she says vaguely, probably trying to make it sound as nice as she can.

"Can I come over and talk to him?"

"_You can try_."

"Okay, thanks. I'll be over in a bit. Bye, Sheila." I hang up the phone and get dressed. I throw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. Downstairs, I slip into my boots and pull my jacket on before leaving.

* * *

When I arrive to the Broflovski house, Sheila lets me in and says, "He's in his room."

I nod and run upstairs, swinging his door open. He's sitting in his bed reading a book. "Kyle," I say his name.

"Stan," he says mine.

"What's up, dude?" I ask.

"Nothing," he informs, not looking up. He continues to stare intently at the pages of the book on his lap. There's an ash tray on his nightstand with about ten cigarette butts in it. I cringe at the sight.

"Your mom said you were having a bad day," I mention.

"I'm just not in a good mood," he admits. "I'd rather not be around people when I'm upset or angry."

"Why not?" I ask.

"I don't want to force them to deal with me," he says. "I don't want to bring them down with my negativity."

"You wouldn't," I insist.

He scoffs lightly, closing the book and putting it on his nightstand. "Are you sure about that?" he asks, looking over at me. "No one likes a whiny bitch."

"Yeah, I'm sure." I sit down next to him and lean back against his pillow. "Why are you in a bad mood, anyway?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Sometimes I just get upset… frustrated."

"Oh," I say. "Does it have anything to do with your OCD?"

"My what?" he asks tartly.

"Your obsession with cleanliness and perfection," I explain.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Fuck off about that, Stan."

"Just admit it," I say.

"You're being dramatic," he snaps. He shifts and lies down with his back facing me so he no longer has to look at me. I lie down as well and wrap a hand around his stomach, pulling him against me. "What are you doing?" he asks warily.

"Hugging my best friend," I tell him.

He just sighs. "This is really fucking gay," he murmurs.

"Is this why you don't want a girlfriend, Kyle?" I wonder aloud.

"What the fuck do you mean?" he snaps.

"Well," I start, "Relationships are messy, right? So is sex. You hate messy things."

"Oh… that."

"What did you think I meant…?"

"Nothing," he insists, but I can take the hint.

"Kyle, are you gay?" I ask.

"No!" he snaps, sounding as if the possibility is outrageous.

"Okay," I say, not pressing the issue. "I won't care if you are."

He laughs somewhat coldly. "Well, I'm not fucking gay, Stan. Why? Are you?"

"I don't believe so."

"Well, you're acting pretty gay right now," he mutters.

"Just enjoy it."

I think Kyle needs this desperately – someone to hold him and reassure him. I don't really mind being that person. Kyle has spent years taking care of me, whether he's been taking care of my drunken messes or consoling me about my girl problems. I'd like to take care of him for a change.

I feel him relax against me and I think that maybe, for the first time in my life, I've done the right thing.


	7. KM: All is right in the world

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

So, apparently Craig is a huge asshole. I didn't know. He seemed relatively nice during the times I've spoken with him – a little cold, but not cruel.

I spent the night with Bebe. Earlier, I texted Stan to ask how his night went, but he had a lot to say. He ended up calling me because he didn't feel like typing it all out on the little keypad on his phone. What he said was surprising. He told me Craig had sex with Annie and made damn sure Lola knew about it. I mean, everyone knows Lola is into Craig. She's been into him for a while. If he didn't feel the same way, he should have just said it instead of screwing with her head _and_ best friend.

I'm on my way to his house now. I thought I'd stop by before heading to Kyle's. Uninvited, of course, but oh well.

Ruby lets me in. "Hey, Kenny," she says in a sultry voice. She's still in her nightgown, so she must've just woken up.

"Er, hey, Ruby…"

"Craig's asleep," she informs me in her normal tone. There's humour evident on her face. Like Karen, she enjoys getting a rise out of people. "I think he is anyway… He doesn't really sleep much."

"Insomnia, right?" I recall.

"Yup."

"So, is my sister here?" I ask the strawberry blonde girl.

"Yeah, she's also asleep. I was asleep as well. So, thanks ever so much for waking me." Her voice is dripping with sarcasm; I'd have to be an idiot not to notice it.

I roll my eyes, kicking off my boots and the two of us go upstairs. "You're hung over, I presume?"

She just snickers. A little grey cat prances down the steps and Ruby grabs it, cradling it like a baby. "Aw," she coos at it.

"Where are your parents?" I ask. "Don't they care?"

"Dad's at work," she says, petting the furry animal. "He doesn't really give a shit."

"What about your mom?"

"She's dead," she says somewhat melancholically.

"What?" I respond stupidly, caught off guard.

"She's _dead_," she repeats. "What else would I mean?"

"Right… I didn't know. Sorry."

She shrugs. "It's fine. I wasn't the one who saw it happen."

Before I can pry, we reach the top and Ruby retreats to her own room, still holding her cat. I enter Craig's and see that he's asleep. He's on the right side of his wide mattress, lying on his stomach with one arm dangling off the side and his face buried in a pillow.

I approach him and say his name. "Craig…?" No answer, just a quiet groan. I grab the blanket and peek beneath. Apparently Craig sleeps naked. Not bad, not bad.

"Enjoying yourself?" he murmurs groggily. I guess he's awake after all.

"I heard about your night," I tell him, letting go of the blanket.

"Did you?" he asks, not seeming all that interested in what I'm about to say.

"I did," I start. "You're on everyone's shit list now, you know."

"Good," he says moodily.

I flop onto the side of the bed he's not currently occupying and say, "Now… why would you go and do a thing like that to Lola? She's sweet on you."

"And now she's not," he says simply.

I click my tongue at him. "Tsk... that isn't how you deal with a situation like that, you asshole."

He only sighs, showing no sign of remorse. He pushes the blanket off of himself, sitting up and walking towards his closet. I watch his lithe body move as he sifts through clothing. He pulls on a pair of cotton pajama pants and a plain, navy long-sleeved shirt. "Why are you here?" he asks, turning around once he's decent.

I give him a dull stare. "Why do you think?"

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, crossing his arms.

"Tell me something good, Craig," I say.

He gives me a look of mild disdain. "I can't think of anything."

"Think harder," I urge. "You're just saying that because you've told me all the little things."

"I really can't think of anything," he says again.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Then how about this – we make up a new rule. Instead of freely telling me things about yourself every day, how about you let me ask you a question."

His eyes narrow. "I don't fucking think so."

"Come on," I whine. "It'll be fun."

"No, it won't," he says surely.

"Just try it. Don't be a bitch."

He lies back down and we're both silent, side by side. "Fine," he murmurs moment later. "Ask away."

"Tell me about your mom."

He closes his eyes. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to… besides, that wasn't even a fucking question."

"I think you need to talk about it, Craig," I tell him, getting a strong sense that it's something he keeps buried.

He scoffs. "I think you should mind your own business and stop sticking your nose in mine."

"You're self-destructive," I say. "When you finally snap, it'll become everyone's business, so you better get ready for it."

"You're an idiot, McCormick," he spits.

"Coming from you, it doesn't mean much, _Tucker_," I spit back.

"Just ask a fucking question."

"All right," I muse. "How did your mother die?"

"Suicide," he says flatly.

"Why?" I ask.

"That's two questions."

"So fuckin' what?" I snap, exasperated. "Christ. Friends should be able to talk to friends about shit like this."

"We're not friends," he says.

"We will be. That's the point of this."

"Don't be so sure," he challenges. "I don't make friends easily."

"Well, I do. Now, answer the question."

"She was depressed," he says tartly.

"How'd she do it?" I ask.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Craig raises his voice and it's unsettling. He sits up and stares down at me with an expression I've never seen him wear before. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"_This_!" he shouts. "Asking me questions I don't want to answer… These things hurt to fucking _think_ about. Is that it? Are you _trying_ to hurt me?"

"No," I say. "I'm not trying to hurt you, but sometimes people need to do things they don't want to do. It's for the best."

"You don't know me," he whispers harshly, "and you sure as hell don't know what's best for me, so you can get that idea out of your fucking head right now."

I'll push it away for the time being, but I'm not getting rid of it. I sit up a moment later and finally take my parka of. I unzip it slowly and toss it onto his floor.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Staying," I say simply, lying back down grinning over at him.

"Why do you wear that fucking thing?" he murmurs, gesturing towards my jacket.

"Is that your question for the day?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Okay," I start. "I used to be really malnourished. I was also pretty filthy. I didn't want people to know I wasn't okay. I couldn't afford to eat and stay clean, but it's all fine now. Tada. It's just a habit these days, I guess. Plus, it keeps me warm for the long winter."

"You're an idiot," Craig states flatly. "You hid your face, you hid your emotions."

"Maybe," I say, not bothering to point out that he hides, too. He'd only get angry.

He lies back down, falling against the pillow in a brash and almost frustrated manner.

"You saw your mother die," I murmur aloud, realizing that must be what happened.

"Shut the fuck up," he says in a hollow tone.

This time, I do.

* * *

I lie quietly with Craig for about an hour before sitting up. I put my parka back on, zipping it up and leaving the room. I know he's awake, but I don't bother telling him I'm leaving or where I'm going. It's obvious that he probably doesn't care. I slip my boots back on and continue to Kyle's house, humming as I walk.

The sun's bright but it's only doing half its job. It's damn cold out, even with my parka. When I arrive at Kyle's, Ike lets me in. "Kyle and Stan are both upstairs," he informs me.

"Cool, thanks," I say, kicking my boots back off and running up. When I open the door, I see the two of them lying there spooning. How fuckin' adorable. "Aw," I coo, tiptoeing closer and whipping out my cellphone to take a picture. _Click_. "Look at you guys... I just wanna eat you up."

"Mm," Stan mumbles. "Funny."

Kyle says, "Hi, Kenny," and turns around in Stan's hold. The two of them make awkward eye contact when their noses touch and Stan lets go. They sit up rather quickly.

I take a seat at the edge of the bed and say, "So, what are you two up to?"

"Nothing much now," Stan says. "We had a weird night, though."

"Yeah," I frown, nodding. "You told me about that a bit."

"Craig is a pig," Kyle declares.

"I went to see him today," I decide to tell them.

"Why?" Stan asks with a scoff. "I didn't think you guys were friends."

"We're not," I say, "but you know how I am. I'm too friendly for my own damn good."

"True enough," Stan snorts. "Did you ask him why he's such a damn prick?"

"No," I laugh, "but Ruby hinted at something and I pieced the rest together."

"What is it, then?" Kyle asks.

"Karen stayed over with Ruby last night. I kind of guessed they were hung over. When she answered the door, I wondered where her parents where. She said her dad was at work, but didn't mention her mom. I pried and Ruby told me she died. Sad, huh? I gave my condolences and she said it was fine because, in her words, she _wasn't the one who saw it happen_," I finish, quoting the last part.

"What?" Stan cuts in. "So, Craig saw his mom buy the farm?"

I nod. "I think so. I brought it up and he immediately grew rigid and angry. I mean, it's Craig, so he didn't show _too_ much of it but I knew. He wouldn't talk. I tried to get him to, but he wasn't having any of that. He said it was a suicide because she was depressed, but he stayed quiet after that."

"That _is_ sad," Kyle murmurs sympathetically.

"Yeah," I say, "and that's probably why he keeps quiet about it. He doesn't want us to pity him and shit."

"Still," Kyle reasons, "he shouldn't go around acting like a fucking asshole."

Stan nods his agreement. "He's screwed Clyde over like that, too. He was into Red so Craig fucked her. When Clyde called him out on it, Craig just said he did Craig a favour because Red is, in his words, a _confrontational bitch_."

I frown. "Christ… I had no idea he had it in him to be so vile."

"I know," Stan murmurs. "I thought he was just a bit of a dick, but he's pretty awful. He's just as heartless as he acts."

I don't know about that. I think he just wants to keep himself from getting hurt, so he hurts everyone else instead, but… I'll keep that to myself. For now, at least.

* * *

"Bitch… bitch, bitch, bitch…!" Stan cusses, aggressively pressing buttons on his controller. "Stupid asshole son-of-a-bitch!"

I snicker. "You suck, dude. Kyle's whipping your sorry ass."

Stan lets out a long whine and Kyle simply smiles. He looks somewhat fearful at the same time and I don't really know why. Maybe it's all of Stan's cursing. Video games always get him riled up. He always loses, so it doesn't really help his game-related anger. I don't know how many times I've watched him rage quit games after only five minutes.

We're all seated in the living room. I'm watching the two of them play PlayStation. Ike is sitting in the corner of the room doing shit on his laptop. He's got his glasses on, so he's probably doing reading for school. Smart little turd. I glance at him, asking, "What'yah doin', Ike?"

"Homework," he sighs, looking up at me and wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Fun?" I ask with a little laugh.

"Not particularly," he admits. "This stuff is immensely tedious."

"Sounds like a drag," I tell him. "How's eighth grade?"

"Easy." He makes another disdainful expression. "Everyone in the class in dumb, I swear. It's pretty bad."

"Heh, genius," I taunt.

He just smiles in good humour before staring back down at his computer screen. I turn back around and watch Kyle and Stan play video games some more. If I was playing, I'd school the both of them. Video games are my speciality.

"Shitting shit," Stan says once he loses.

Kyle bristles at Stan's final insult. "Sorry," he lets out a soft laugh. He stands up and hands me the remote control. "I'll be right back," he adds, going upstairs.

Stan frowns and we exchange a knowing look.

"Yeah, he's going to wash his hands. He has, like, the worst OCD ever," Ike cuts in. "Mom insists he's fine and dandy, though. We all know that when it comes to Kyle's problems, her track record isn't the best. It's been like that since we were young. He's almost died more than once, but she never learns."

I roll my eyes, recalling the incident where he got kidney failure. "Sorry," I say, "but Sheila is kind of retarded if she thinks Kyle doesn't have serious issues."

"I know," he admits. "She likes to think me and Kyle are perfect. I could get fuckin' raped or stabbed or something and she'd insist it never happened. She just can't handle the idea of us suffering and that just makes things worse."

"Christ," I mumble. "No wonder he's got problems."

"What would happen if we just… kind of dragged him out of the bathroom?" Stan wonders.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Ike murmurs. "He needs to be able to stop doing it on his own accord. He can't be forced into it. Sometimes my mom makes him, but he fights her over it and screams and it's just not pleasant to see. Do you know _why_ he performs those rituals?"

Me and Stan shake our heads in unison.

"Well," Ike starts, "he might be thinking something he doesn't want to be thinking about. They're intrusive thoughts, things he can't control. The thoughts will pervade and he will need to do his little ritual. He'll feel better. I know that, to us, it makes no sense… but to him it does."

"What does he think might happen?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. A guess, but maybe he thought Stan was going to get angry because he lost. He was being quite aggressive just now," Ike explains. Stan starts to open his mouth but Ike cuts him off and adds, "I'm not saying this is your fault. It's just something that Kyle thinks. He hates when people get angry. It makes him feel incredibly guilty. He takes everything on, even things that he has no control over."

"So, I should be a little… softer?" Stan ventures.

Ike shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "OCD varies among people and Kyle won't talk about his, or even acknowledge that he has it."

"But it's so fucking obvious," I murmur.

"Yeah, I know," Ike sighs.

The conversation dies down after that. I pick up a controller and start a new game. Me and Stan play around for a little while and I beat the tar out of him, much to his chagrin.

Eventually Kyle comes back downstairs. "You okay?" I ask him.

"I'm fine," he tells me. Naturally.

I simply nod. "Anything good happening tonight?"

Kyle shrugs and Stan says, "Not that I know of. We can head down to the club?"

* * *

So, the three of us end up going down to the club, grabbing Eric on our way. I call Bebe and tell her to meet us there. I tell her to bring Lola, too. We'll entertain her and soon enough she'll forget all about Craig and her mean best friend.

"Ladies," I greet upon arrival. I unzip my hood, give Bebe a kiss and say, "Pretty as ever, my queen."

"Oh, you," she simpers before chucking and we all walk inside.

Eric whips out his flask and Kyle raises an eyebrow. "What's in there?"

"Patron," Eric replies, taking a swig.

I grimace at the mention of tequila. I've had a few particularly rough nights and tequila is to blame. He offers Kyle a sip and he tentatively accepts, taking the flask and taking a slow drink. "Oh, fuck," he exclaims. "Ew."

Eric cackles at the reaction. "Pussy."

Kyle calls him stupid and the two of them banter back and forth for a while. The rest of us just try to drown them out.

"How're you doin', Lola?" I ask softly.

"I'm good," she says. "And you? Bebe tells me you're trying to befriend Craig…"

"I want to see the softer side of him," I admit.

"I don't think he has one," Lola says disdainfully.

"Yeah," I sympathize. "I don't know. If he does, he definitely doesn't let it show."

"He's just a stupid, scared boy," she adds.

"Yeah," I chuckle. I think that's exactly what Craig Tucker is. "He'll learn the hard way, be sure of that."

"But enough Craig talk," she insists, "Let's enjoy the night."

"That's the spirit," Bebe smiles, linking one arm to me and another to Lola before dragging us to the dance floor. She turns around and beckons Kyle, Eric and Stan to join us. Eric promptly wanders off, probably to find a girl to hump. Stan chuckles and joins us, as does Kyle though with much more hesitance. He hates dancing. After all, he has little rhythm.

"Smile, Kyle," Lola shouts over the music, grabbing his hands and forcing him to sway. "You're having fun."

Kyle forces a smile, humouring her probably just because he knows she's still a bit upset. Nonetheless, it's always good to see Kyle let loose a bit. He's way too uptight. It's just not healthy.

Bebe grins at the sight of them, as do Stan and I. Bebe grabs our hands and starts dancing and jumping around like her feet are on fire. None of us are great dancers, but it's good fun anyway. After a few songs, we all enter the lounge.

"I'm going to get a drink," Bebe announces. "Anyone want anything?"

"I'm good," I grin, flopping onto a three seater sofa. "I'll just share yours."

She chuckles and nods. "Stan, Kyle, Lola?"

"I'll take a coke," Stan says, sitting on my right side.

"Me, too," Lola adds, sitting on my left.

"I'm fine, thanks," Kyle smiles. He flops onto a loveseat across from us and I break out into a grin.

"There's room on my lap if you're interested," I purr.

He rolls his eyes. "You're insatiable."

"Heh," I snicker. I toss an arm around Stan's shoulder and peck him on the cheek before doing the same to Lola. "Ah, today is a good day."

"Why're you in such a damn good mood?" Kyle asks.

"I just am," I say simply. I'm not going to let Craig's angst put me in a bad mood.

"I always feel pretty weird when we do this kinda shit," Stan suddenly says.

"Why?" I wonder. "What kinda shit?"

"Clubbing," he explains. "Don't you get annoyed when Bebe holds my hand?"

"Nah," I shake my head. "We're all friends here. I know you're not trying to steal her away and she's not trying to steal you away either. It's all innocent fun."

"Okay," Stan smiles. "If you say so."

Bebe returns shortly after with our drinks. After handing them out she flops down next to Kyle and the five of us don't see Eric for the rest of the night. I guess that's fine. I kind of want Kyle to keep enjoying the night and not have Eric come back and start an argument.

* * *

It's now Sunday and my parents are off to church. I don't fucking know why they go. I think it's just to keep up appearances. Me and Karen go along with them. Karen pretends she's still the sweet little girl she used to be. She's not wearing any make up. She's fresh faced, with her hair up in a tidy bun. She's also wearing a modest dress. Me and Kevin are wearing casual suits. Mine has a hole in the pocket, but I'm not really looking to buy a new one anytime soon. I'll wear this one until it no longer fits. No parka today. I'm completely visible and it still feels a little strange to show this much of myself because it's something I rarely do. But maybe it's something I should get used to.

I see Stan a few pews down with his parents, and Eric with Liane. After mass, people line up to confess their sins. My parents are gone by now, no big surprise. I stand with Stan and Eric. Karen, Kevin and Shelly are behind us quietly chatting away. I still find it weird that Kevin and Shelly are friends.

"I bet you have a lot to confess, eh, Eric?" I snort.

He rolls his eyes, dismissing me. "I don't even want to be here."

"Well, there's something to confess," Stan snickers.

Soon enough, it's my turn. I enter the confession box and kneel down, doing the sign of the cross. It's Father Maxi on the other side and he says, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

I let out a soft sigh. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been about… Well, it's been a long time since my last confession. Probably a few years."

"Why so long?"

"I have no excuse," I admit. "I just haven't been here."

"What sins have you committed since then?"

I decide to confess only the sins I am actually sorry for. I won't apologize for having sex or drinking, that's for damn sure. "I try to be a good person but sometimes it's hard. I've been fighting a lot. I find it so impossible to control myself sometimes. It's easier to just let myself go and let the anger swallow me up. My parents don't really care, but I feel like I should be a better sibling to my sister and even my brother, Kevin. He's kind of lost his way." I pause for a moment and then finish, "That's all, Father."

"Are you sorry for your sins?" he asks. I tell him I am and he invites me to say a prayer as proof.

"My God, I am sorry for my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to sin no more. Amen."

"Five Hail Mary's," Father Maxi says. "May the passion of our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ heal your sins and help you grow in holiness. Go in Peace."

"Thank you, Father," I murmur. I do the sign of the cross once more, and then leave the confession box. I walk past Stan and everyone else before approaching the alter. Kneeling, I clasp my palms together and whisper, "Hail Mary, full of grace…"

Five Hail Mary's later; I don't really feel all that different. I guess this is why I don't come to church. When I rise, Stan is leaving the confession box. Eric enters after him and Stan kneels a few feet away from me.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…" I hear him murmuring to himself.

I wonder what Stan's sins were. I think I'll ask him. Maybe I'm not supposed to ask him, but eh… I'm curious. I take a seat on a pew and wait for him to be finished. When he stands up, he turns around and offers me a smile.

"What did you confess?" I ask him.

"Being impatient with Kyle," he says. "I was kind of a di–" he stops, cutting himself off. He doesn't want to swear in the house of God. "I was kind of lame," he corrects.

I chuckle. "Yeah, but Eric was the lamest."

"We should've stopped him from messing around with Kyle's book shelf," he says.

"Yeah, lesson learned."

"He seemed fine last night," Stan adds. "I think he had a good time."

I nod and a moment later, Eric leaves the confession box. "He sure took a while," I say. "He'll be at the altar for twice as long, I'm sure."

"Probably," Stan laughs.

Eric overhears us and flips us the bird. "Dude," I say, "You can't do that in church."

He doesn't look like he cares all that much. He kneels at the altar for a few short moments and stands up. "Fuck it, I ain't saying twenty goddamn prayers."

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose and I just shake my head at him. "You're somethin' else, dude," I laugh.

"Ah, whatever," he says dismissively, shoving his hands in his pockets. The three of us walk outside into the crisp, cold air. They don't bother waiting for their parents.

"That was boring as hell," Eric mutters.

"Yeah, Maxi really likes trying to brainwash us with fear," I add. "At least we're old and smart enough to realize it now, unlike when we were kiddies."

"Ugh," Stan groans. "Bad memories."

"Why'd you come to mass today, Kinny?" Eric asks. "You never come."

"I don't know," I shrug. "I just thought I'd go." I've been feeling guilty about the fighting. Maybe that's why I went. "Craig wasn't here… Does he ever come?"

Stan shakes his head and Eric says, "No, but I bet he'd have a fuck of a lot to confess. Maybe even more than me."

"Heh, yeah," I agree. "Dude, I bet you only confessed like ten percent of your sins."

"If I confessed them all, I think Maxi might try to strangle me again," Eric says with facetious solemnity.

"We wouldn't want that," Stan mutters sarcastically.

"Ay!" Eric shouts. "You guys wouldn't be able to live without me."

"Sure, dude, keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel special," Stan snorts.

I pat Eric on the back and smile, but I don't join in the patronizing this time. "Let's go to Stark's Pond," I suggest out of the blue.

"Should we call Kyle to meet us there?" Stan asks.

"Sure," I grin.

He whips out his phone and sends a text to his super best friend. It should be nice. I haven't been there in years. I kind of miss it. "When was the last time you guys were at Stark's Pond?" I wonder.

"When I was in grade eight," Eric pipes in. "I chased a seventh grader there and pushed him in."

"Asshole," I laugh. "What 'bout you, Stan?"

He smiles, looking like he's in thought. "It was a couple years ago," he says. "I was with Kyle."

"Naturally," Eric snorts. "Fuckin' homos."

Stan dismisses him and continues, "We were sixteen. I learned how to drive and I decided to take Kyle for a spin. We parked by the pond and we just kind of sat there. It was in the summer. It was nice."

"Yeah, that sounds nice," I smile.

"Gay," Eric adds. "Why don'tcha just fuck Kyle and get it over with."

"Why don't _you_?" Stan retorts. "You're the one who used to obsess over him."

"It's called humiliation, Stan," Eric states condescendingly. "I didn't want to fuck him, I wanted to humiliate him…"

"Sexually," I add and Eric rolls his eyes. "Hey, if Kyle was down for it I'd probably fuck him," I admit. "He's cute."

Stan just murmurs a soft and awkward, "Yeah".

"Hell, I'd probably fuck him, too," Eric finally relents. "Mind you, I'd probably smack him around a bit beforehand so he got good and scared. Bet he'd be loud."

How unsettling. "Sadist," Stan says distastefully. He means it when he says it. Eric's computer history is just full of violent porn. He really is a sexual sadist. "Like hell he'd let you touch him."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to steal your boyfriend," Eric says. "So, calm your boner."

I laugh some more. "Okay, we better stop talking about this. Kyle would kill us and spit on our graves."

"He's literally the only virgin I'm friends with," Eric says, sounding like he's only just realizing it now. "Fuckin' Butters isn't even a virgin."

"What about Tweek?" Stan asks.

"He's been around and back," I cut in.

"For real?" Stan raises a brow, unconvinced.

I nod. "You know how he was in a hospital the summer after grade nine?" I ask, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Well, apparently the nurses were oblivious so all the patients screwed around."

"Christ," Eric says. "What a fuckin' weirdo. Why the fuckin' hell would someone want to sleep with someone in a nut house?"

I roll my eyes. "Dude… not everyone in there is insane. Some people just have things to work through. Some people are sick. Some people are tired and need a place to _rest_."

Eric just shrugs. "Still fuckin' weird."

"I had sex with him twice," I admit.

"What?" Stan asks in a deadpan, but Eric doesn't look too shocked.

I just nod, smiling slightly. "He fucks like he's on meth."

"Must be the so called ADD," Eric mutters. "He never stops moving… like the fuckin' energizer bunny."

"Pretty much," I chuckle. "Tweek the tweeker." Poor bastard. He'll probably be dead before he's thirty, which is a shame. He's a nice kid.

"Christ," Eric sighs. "Everyone here just fucks one another."

"You're no different," I point out. "Besides, what the fuck else is there to do in a small town like this?"

"True enough," he relents.

The three of us arrive at Stark's Pond and take in the familiar sight – a place where we spent so much of our childhood. I sit on a boulder nearby and sigh, "It's still the exact same."

"Once Kyle shows up, this will be the first time we're all here together since we were ten," Stan says.

"Hm," I muse, grinning.

It's just past noon now and the sun is high up, but once again, only doing half its job because it's fucking freezing out here. Kyle shows up a few minutes later. He waves and calls as he approaches where Stan, Eric and I are.

"You guys look fancy," he notes.

"We just came from church," I tell him with a shrug.

"I haven't been here in a while," he says, surveying the area. Awe spreads across his face as he takes in his surroundings.

"Yeah, I thought it might be nice for us to all sit around here again," I tell him. "Grade twelve just started, but the end isn't far away. We'll be graduating soon. We'll all be adults. I thought it'd be nice to be here as kids one more time."

Kyle simply smiles, staring out at the frozen lake. Then he starts chuckling, "Do you remember the time Cartman rowed us all out here and tried to kill us when we wanted to confess for TPing the art teacher's house?"

"And he betrayed us in the end," I say solemnly before cracking a smile.

"Fuck you guys," Eric cuts in. "Serves you all right."

Stan just shakes his head and everything feels so beautifully normal. For now, I'll pretend that all is right in the world.


	8. SM: A sobering discovery

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Wow! So many reviews so far, you guys are the best :) **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Monday morning and Cartman is being an ass again. Nothing new. Kyle is fretting, though. The two of them are in the midst of yet another hallway argument. It happens at least a couple times a day. It's like Cartman needs his fix of Kyle-angst and Kyle gives it to him in buckets. "Stop belittling me, you dumb fuck!" he shouts, voice wavering with emotion.

"Never," Cartman cackles cruelly. "Never, never, never!"

"You're an asshole, Cartman!" Kyle shrieks, temper rising to a frightening extent. This is why his voice is now permanently hoarse – from yelling at Cartman for years and years and years. If he doesn't calm down, a teacher will drag them both to the counsellor's office any minute.

"And you're a Jew-bitch!" the fat tit retorts.

Kyle is silent for a moment, but then he does something that is a little overdramatic. He starts to cry. Loudly. A few other kids in the hallway shoot him sympathetic stares as they walk past us, but they say nothing. Everyone is used to it by now. "Why do we always have to fight?" Kyle asks tearfully. "What did I do to make you hate me so fucking much?"

Cartman is silent, but there's something in his eyes that _might_ be guilt. I glance at him and we're both bewildered.

"Fucking say something!" Kyle snaps, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

"What the hell d'you want me to say?" Cartman asks, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Kyle turned the tables with his display of emotions.

Kyle presses the palms of his hands to his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Just say you don't hate me…"

"I don't!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up. "Christ, Jew… Take a fucking joke. These fights aren't supposed to be fuckin' serious. They're just a joke."

Kyle lets his hands fall. "Everything is a joke to you!" he yells.

"The only way to get through life is not to take everything so goddamn seriously," Cartman mutters.

"Come on, Ky," I say softly, putting an arm around his back and ushering him away from the fat ass. "Don't get yourself worked up over nothing." I walk him to the boy's bathroom and usher him inside. He leans against the wall and sinks to the floor, still swiping at his eyes some more.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Fuck!"

"Why are you _really_ upset?" I ask, kneeling next to him.

"What do you mean?" His voice is terse and the tears won't stop, no matter how many times he brushes them away.

"I mean," I start, "that you were probably upset over something before Cartman decided to be a tit. He just pushed you over the edge. There's no way in hell you'd just start bawling like this over a few insults from Jabba the Hutt."

He turns his head to glance at me. "Shut up," he whispers.

I stare into his glassy eyes. I reach a hand forward and wipe the freshly fallen tears. "You cry like a child," I murmur. He scowls at that and I can't help but chuckle. "It's not a bad thing. Kids cry with everything they got. They don't give a shit who sees. They cry and then they feel better. It's completely unrepressed. That's kind of how you cry, too."

"I guess so," he says quietly.

I put my arm around him and pull him close. "So, why are you upset?" I ask once more.

"I'm just frustrated lately," he murmurs. "Last night I heard Ike talking to my mom about things… about _me_."

"What were they talking about?" Though, I think I have an idea.

Kyle sniffs and then sighs. "My habits… my book shelf… the way I wash my hands. Stuff that doesn't concern them."

I frown sympathetically. I really hate seeing him like this. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Yeah…" he admits weakly. He presses his lips together and squeezes his eyes shut. He sniffs again and more tears fall. "Fuck," he sobs. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Not a damn thing, Kyle," I say, rubbing his shoulder. "Everyone's got shit to work through. There's nothing wrong with you… but maybe you should go to therapy?" It's a tentative and cautious suggestion.

"No," he flat out refuses, not taking a minute to consider what it might offer him.

"You wouldn't have to feel like this anymore," I tell him. "You could get help."

"No," he repeats. He moves away from me and stands up, marching towards the door. He then pauses, brushing the dirt off his clothes and then rinsing his hands in the sink for good measure. To be expected. He was just sitting on the floor after all.

Once he's done, I stand up and grab his wrist, forcing him to look at me. We share a long, awkward stare and my heart starts to palpitate in my chest. I don't really know what I want to say or do, so I just let him go.

Well, fuck.

* * *

I slowly walk to my first class. The teacher scolds me for being late as I grab the seat next to Kenny. It's math class, which Kyle doesn't have with us since he's advanced and this is remedial math.

"Where were you?" Kenny asks, his speech muffled by his usual orange, hooded parka.

"Kyle was crying again," I murmur. It's nothing new, but it still sucks to see.

"Oh," Kenny wrinkles his freckly nose. "He okay now?"

"Not really. I suggested therapy and he got angry," I whisper.

"McCormick and Marsh!" the teacher growls our surnames. "The chatting can wait until after class, boys!"

Kenny rolls his eyes and when the teacher turns around he lifts up his middle finger, taking a page out of Craig's books. This elicits giggles and snicker from a few other students and by the time the teacher turns around, he already has his hand placed neatly on his desk. Her eyes narrow suspiciously, lingering in me and Kenny's direction, but she eventually turns back around and starts writing math problems on the chalk board.

When class finally does end, I turn to Kenny and say, "Can we talk?"

"Sure, dude," he says. "What's up?"

"I'll tell you in a sec." I drag him out of the classroom and into an empty computer lab.

"Are we gonna hook up?" Kenny asks with a snicker.

"Dude… no," I laugh.

He laughs, too. "Okay, so what is the problem?"

"I think I might be attracted to Kyle," I murmur quietly and Kenny nods sagely; taking his hood off and ruffling his hair. I can't help but admire him. Christ, he really _is_ good looking… I hadn't really noticed until our lips were pressed together a little while ago. I never looked at guys in a gay way before, but now I can't seem to stop. Wendy put some pretty potent ideas in my head.

"I thought you might," Kenny says. "What do you like about him? Think hard, it's a question you need to be able to answer. If you can't, then pursuing him is pointless."

"I don't fuckin' know," I say. I was never good at answering that question when Wendy asked it and it'll probably be no different this time. "He's pretty, I guess… He has smooth skin. Kyle is pretty in an unconventional sense. I like that about him. He has a unique face. He has big, green eyes and a sharp nose, but everything else about him is soft." I guess I sound shallow, but I like Kyle for more than just the way he looks. That's why we're best friends. He's important and it's hard to put it into words.

"Jesus Christ," Kenny laughs. "Sounds like you're talking about a cute girl you saw at the mall or something, dude. Are you gonna mention his back dimples and full lips, too?"

"Shut up," I mumble, chuckling and shoving him into the tiled wall. "Does he really have back dimples?" I ask a an afterthought.

Kenny nods, looking lecherous. "Yeah, haven't you ever watched him change?"

"Not in depth…" I say slowly. "But you clearly have?"

"Of course," he says shamelessly. "I've pretty much checked everyone out in the locker rooms at some point. I get curious, so sue me…!"

"That's unsettling, dude," I snort.

"I've checked you out, too," he decides to add, giving me a perverse grin.

That doesn't really shock me. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

I can't help but wonder if Kyle's dick is larger than mine. I don't know why. I've never really paid attention to it in the gym locker room. Mine is average and Kenny once told me Kyle was pretty hung for a little guy. I'm not sure if he was telling the truth or if he was just screwing around. With Kenny, you can never really know and I'm not about to ask. I smack myself on the side of the head, trying to will away the gay thoughts.

"If you ever want someone to explore this new boy-lovin' side of you," he winks, "you know where to come."

"Right," I snort. "Thanks ever so much for the chance of a lifetime."

We're both quiet for a moment, just staring at each other. Then, in unison, we both lean forward. Damn the hormones. He grabs a fistful of my sweater and we aggressively make out with each other. I tongue every inch of his mouth until Mr. Venezuela decides to interrupt, broom at the ready.

"Qu_é_…?"

Me and Kenny promptly break apart and offer him sheepish smiles. Kenny pulls his hood back up and the two of us run off. Once we round the corner we both start laughing, ignoring the raised eyebrows of every curious student standing in the hallway with us.

"Shit!" I exclaim.

"How far d'you think we would've gone if he hadn't interrupted?" Kenny asks.

"I don't know, dude," I admit. "But we probably shouldn't… I think I like Kyle."

"And I like… well, I like lots of people!" he exclaims. "I guess I just need to figure out who I like the best."

I roll my eyes. "You are somethin' else."

Kenny wiggles his eyebrows. "Everyone fucks everyone," he says. "Welcome to high school. It's probably worse since we're such a small town, too. We all know one another. We're an incestuous bunch."

"Yeah, that's true," I agree.

"If you're DTF, we can let Bebe join and make it a little less gay?" he suggests with humour.

"Dude, no way," I snort. "If we were gonna fuck, I wouldn't want your god damn girlfriend to be there. That would be weird as hell."

"Hey, it wouldn't be our first threesome," he adds.

"Honest to God?" I ask.

He nods. "I slept with Tweek, remember? We did it once and we did it again with Bebe. I fucked him while he was fucking her. It was fun. He was surprisingly adventurous and thirsty as hell." Of all people…

"Dude, I will seriously _never_ understand you and Bebe's relationship," I state flatly.

"Bebe and I… We get each other," Kenny says fondly. A soft smile makes its way to his lips and I can _see_ how much he fucking loves her.

"Then why don't you just stay with her?" I ask.

"It's a different kind of love," he explains. "It's hard to explain. Once we find the person we're truly suited for, we'll probably be okay with making things exclusive."

"If you know you won't end up with her, why are you with her now?"

"Because," he starts, "we're best friends. Maybe that's not really the right word... We're kind of inseparable and we're comfortable exploring each other like this. I love her, I do… and she loves me. We're like fucking soul mates, dude. Maybe that's a better word to describe me and Bebe. But sometimes soul mates aren't meant to get married and be together. We're one in the same. She's my female counterpart, you could say. If we got jealous, it'd be a completely different story. It would change everything. I'm comfortable with her. She's comfortable with me. We've seen the best and worst parts of one another. I mean, fuck, I spread my damn legs for that girl. I never imagined I'd do that for anyone, let alone a chick."

I snicker at that. We all found that pretty damn surprising. "Would it ruin your relationship if one of you did get jealous?" I wonder.

"Probably." Kenny shrugs.

I shake my head. Again, I don't get it.

* * *

After school, we all go to Kyle's house to finish that stupid project once and for all. Presentations start on Friday and we still need to do the final touch ups.

"Sooo," Cartman sings as we all settle in Kyle's room, "I heard something interesting today."

"What's that?" Kyle asks tartly, still mad about the confrontation they had this morning.

"Sally Turner said she saw Kenny and Stan fooling around in an empty computer lab," he snickers.

I pale horrendously and Kenny just rolls his eyes. "Who cares?" he drawls, as if it's not even a big deal. I guess it's not, but in this context is kind of sucks.

"So, is it true?" Cartman asks expectantly.

"Yep!" Kenny exclaims.

"Jesus Christ," he laughs boisterously. "You guys are all fuckin' gay as hell."

"Honestly, it's not a big fucking deal," Kyle snaps. "It's not their first time doing it. Besides, no offence, but _everyone's_ kissed Kenny." He leans forward and gives the blond a peck on the lips. "See, now I've done it, too? Wow, lovely! Let's get back to fucking work on this damn thing."

Kenny smiles at Kyle and I let out a sigh. For some reason, I'm incredibly annoyed. Kenny probably senses this because stops smiling and gives me a pointed look. "_Just tell him_," he mouths at me.

I shake my head. The last thing Kyle needs right now is for his best friend to try getting into his pants. What he needs first is help.

* * *

After the dumb project is fixed up, Cartman goes home. Kenny decides to follow shortly after, leaving me and Kyle alone. Kenny winks at me and then makes an obscene gesture with his hands. I just roll my eyes and wave him out of the room. Kyle is oblivious to the entire thing, muttering an offhanded, "Bye, Kenny." He's staring at his computer screen still, reading and rereading our project in case of typos.

"Dude, we're done," I tell him. "Don't worry about it. We'll get an A."

He lets out a sigh, closing his laptop and spinning around in his desk chair. "You're right," he says, standing up. "Be right back." He wanders out of the room and I know he's probably going to perform his little ritual.

I lie down on his bed and close my eyes. He'll probably be in there for a while. I'm debating on whether or not I should tell him I want to be with him… No. I probably shouldn't. I let out a groan and stand up, walking out into the hallway. "Kyle," I say his name, knocking on the bathroom door. "I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow."

He doesn't respond. Nonetheless, I go downstairs, slip on my shoes and leave. I spend the rest of the evening watching crapping TV and trying not to think about my parents. So Instead, I think about Kyle. I debate whether or not I should call Wendy. She always gives the best advice… but I'm not really sure I want her knowing about this. I don't even know what _this_ is. I just know that she is probably the one who started it by getting the idea in my head. I never really considered it before now. I don't know if that means it's just a phase or if it's real. I guess I need to find that out before I tell Kyle. Christ, this just got a hell of a lot more difficult.

Shelly walks in a while later. I turn around and I ask, "Has Dad been around?"

"No," she says angrily. "Fuck him. He's a fucking bitch for ditching us like this."

I don't respond. I just turn my head back toward the television and concentrate on the story. She flops down next to me after kicking her shoes off and neither of us says a damn word. It's weird that she's being so civil. I almost miss the days where she'd call me a turd and beat me up… Okay, well, I wouldn't go as far to say I miss it. I just hate seeing her this miserable. This whole damn house is miserable. I hate being here.

"Where's Mom?" I ask.

"Locked away in her room," Shelly reveals sourly. "She didn't work today. When she doesn't work she mostly just cleans the house and goes to sleep."

"I know," I mutter.

"She misses you, though," Shelly adds.

"What?"

"She knows you've been avoiding the house. She doesn't blame you, but she misses you."

Suddenly I feel guilty. "Oh…" I hand Shelly the remote and stand up, running upstairs. I should probably go see if Mom's okay… if she needs me to do anything. I should apologize for avoiding her. I walk to the end of the hallway and open her bedroom door. "Mom…?" I call quietly.

"Mm?" I hear her soft reply. I wander inside and she turns on the lamp on her nightstand, sitting up. "What is it, sweetheart?"

I take a few more steps, so I'm standing in front of her bed. I let out a sharp sigh that comes out sounding like a sob then I break. "I'm sorry," I say weakly, starting to cry.

She frowns and her eyes soften. She pulls back the covers and pats the empty spot beside her… the place my Dad should be. Nonetheless, I slip inside. I feel weird crying in front of my mom, but I feel really bad as well and the bad feeling is stronger than the weird feeling. She hugs me and I rest my forehead against her shoulder.

People tell me I'm too sensitive. I've been told it my entire life. I tried to deny it, but I see it now. Looking back on it, I don't know why I tried so damn hard to pretend it wasn't true.

After many long and embarrassing minutes, I calm myself down and sit up. "Is he coming back?" I ask, wiping my wet eyes.

"I don't know, Stanley," she says. "I'm sorry for putting you through this."

"And I'm sorry I haven't been here," I reply.

"It's okay. I understand why," she smiles, but it's incredibly forced and lackluster. "What have you and the boys been up to?"

"An English project," I tell her. "Kyle's freaking out like always. I recently discovered that he probably has OCD… well, not probably… definitely. He definitely has OCD."

"Really?" she sounds concerned.

I nod. "He denies it, though. He gets angry when anyone brings it up... Plus, his eating habits are all over the place lately, too."

"Poor thing," Mom says softly. "Hopefully he doesn't get sick again."

"I know," I murmur. It was no secret that Kyle was incredibly ill. Everyone knew and I think that made him feel even worse. He tried so damn hard to hide it and he was doing a good job, but it didn't last. Nothing ever lasts.

"And how's Wendy?"

"We broke up," I admit. "It was a while ago."

"Are you all right?" Mom asks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were preoccupied," I say carefully, "but I'm fine. I was upset, but I'm fine now. I'm over her."

"Is there a new girl?" she pries.

I press my lips together, debating on whether or not I should tell her I might be kinda gay. "Not a new girl…" I say slowly, "but there might be a guy."

She's quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Oh," she says simply. "Well, if that's what you want…"

"You're fine with it?" I ask.

"A bit surprised," she admits, "but as long as you're happy…"

I feel ultimately relieved. "Okay."

"May I ask who it is?"

"Kyle," I say.

She smiles. "I can see it now that you mention it."

"Can you?" I raise a brow. "Is it obvious?"

She shakes her head. "You care about him. His happiness is a priority of yours. It's only natural you might want more than just his friendship."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I don't know though… It's all really confusing. I'm not sure if what I feel is what I think it is."

"What else would it be?" she asks.

"A phase?" I shrug, a chuckle escaping. "A homoerotic friendship? I don't know."

"It's probably not a phase, honey. For many people, sexuality is a fluid thing. It's not as simple as being straight or gay. Nonetheless, do a little soul searching," she suggests. "You'll find the answer. You'll know."

"Thanks, Mom," I say sincerely.

"Sure, sweetie."

I've never had a conversation like this with her in all of my life. It actually feels kind of nice. Weird and pretty awkward, but still nice. I guess it's probably because my dad consumed a lot of her time with his idiocy, but at the same time she is probably happy talking about my problems for a change instead of sitting alone and being forced to think about her own.

I don't mind being her distraction.


	9. KM: I don't know myself

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Okay, so I just moved houses a couple days ago. I won't have internet for ten more days, but I'm at starbucks right now so yay. Ignore any mistakes, I haven't had a minute to edit this and I have a buttload of final assignments to do for university. **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

So Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski might become an actual thing. I can't say I'm surprised. Me and Bebe pretty much predicted it. Now all Stan has to do is get the words out, but I don't think he's going to do that until Kyle stops crying over his alphabetized book shelf. That's probably a smart decision. Kyle would probably be bit overwhelmed. I can't really see him having sex any time soon either, if he's a bit fearful of messes. Sex is pretty damn messy. In a good way, I think, but I _know_ Kyle would disagree and cringe.

Craig isn't at school today. I didn't see him in his usual spot behind the school or with Clyde. He skips a lot and when he's not skipping, he usually has detention.

I texted him yesterday and he told me he was getting braces soon. I thought that was funny. His teeth _are_ pretty crooked, but I think it's kind of endearing.

After classes, I loiter for a bit and then decide to visit him. Ruby lets me in. She licks her top lip seductively and then winks at me. I just stare. "Ruby," I sigh, "you're a very pretty girl… but no."

She clicks her tongue. "Tsk, you're no fun."

"I know, I know," I say somewhat dismissively. "Where's your brother?"

"In his room, obviously."

I nod my thanks and go upstairs. Craig is sitting on his bed wearing a baggy t-shirt that's sliding off his left shoulder and a pair of sweats. There's a laptop in front of him and he's hunched over it.

"McCormick," he greets airily, not looking up.

"_Tucker_," I respond, pulling my hood down and taking off my parka.

He closes his laptop a moment later, placing it on his nightstand. "What is it?"

"Question time," I start, approaching his bed and sitting across from him on the mattress so we're face to face. Part of me wants to push him down and fuck him silly. I bet Craig Tucker would be a damn good lay… but I don't. Instead, I simply ask, "Why don't you let people get close?"

He sneers at me. "I don't want to play this game anymore," he says.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because you're winning."

"So?" I shrug, closing his laptop and pushing it to the side.

"I don't like to lose," he states tartly.

I grin. "Sometimes you have to lose in order to win."

He lets out a breath, frowning. "What happens now?"

For a moment, I just grin and he looks at me searchingly. I lean forward and press my lips to his, pulling away with a soft, wet sound. When he says nothing, I do it again and then we're ripping each other's clothes off. He pulls my shirt up over my head and throws it on the floor before reaching for the button on my jeans. His movements are rushed. It's like if he gives himself a moment to think rationally he'll put a stop to all of this and run away.

Once we're bare, I lean forward again, placing a hand on his sternum and pushing him onto his back. I kiss his lips and work my way down until I've got his cock in my mouth. I've never given head before, but I guess there's a first time for most things. I've had my dick sucked enough times for me to know the dos and don'ts from personal experience.

"Just fuck me already," he moans impatiently.

I hollow my cheeks and pull away from his cock with a _pop_, sitting up and touching him the way I'd touch myself. "All in due time…" I take a minute to admire him looking like this. He doesn't look quite so stoic when he's writhing beneath me. It's giving me a serious hard on.

He reaches a hand into the top drawer of his nightstand a throws a condom at me as well as a bottle of something wet. "No, now," he demands.

I chuckle, opening the package and rolling it on before going down again. I pour a generous amount of lube onto his hole before fingering him.

"Now…" he pants, inching his legs further apart. It's less of a demand this time. "I can't…"

I press my lips together, trying to suppress a smirk as I slowly remove the fingers. I sit up once more and throw his legs over my shoulders. I bring him closer and position my cock against him. I close my eyes as I feel the familiar pleasure. "Oh, fuckin' hell," I mumble as I push forward.

His lips part as I ease my way in. What an erotic sight. "I can't, I can't…" he murmurs and moans to himself, sounding almost delirious. It's fucking beautiful.

I pull out halfway before thrusting back in and then doing it again and again. I revel in the sounds he's making and I know that he'll probably be filled with spite when it's over… but I want him to enjoy it until then. I reach forward and wrap my fingers around his cock once more, moving my hand up and down the shaft.

He lets out a sob, coming hard. I follow shortly after, unable to hold back. I quicken my pace before coming to an eventual halt. I shudder, a few breaths escaping and when I pull out Craig suddenly starts crying. I feel like I should be surprised, but I'm not. I half expected him to. I bet I'm one of the only people in the entire world who have seen him cry.

For a few minutes, I just let him. I get off the bed and toss the condom into his trash bin before grabbing a tissue and wiping the tip of my dick and then Craig's stomach. His abdomen tenses at the touch and I can only sigh. Once we're clean-ish, I sit back down. I apologize, though I don't know what for and he just starts crying harder.

I lean back so we're lying side by side and I close my eyes. "What are you afraid of, Craig?" I ask gently. He won't look at me. He just continues sobbing into his hands, so I ask once more, "What are you afraid of?" My tone is soft but curious.

"Nothing," he whispers angrily, his voice wet and weak.

"I _know_ that's a lie," I point out. "We just had sex. It was good… yet you're here crying. I think you have a lot of fear and you allow it to consume you."

He grabs a handful of the bed sheets and wipes his eyes with them. "I'm not going to tell you about my fucking fears just so you can use them against me."

"I wouldn't do that," I say.

"Yes, you would."

"Want to hear about mine then?" I offer.

He turns his head and stares at me for a moment. "Why?"

"It helps to talk about things sometimes," I murmur. I give him a gentle smile before saying, "I'm afraid of being in small spaces. I guess I'm claustrophobic or whatever. When I was a kid, my parents would lock me in the little box-sized room in our basement that had the furnace. I'd be in there for hours sometimes and the sound of the furnace would drive me crazy. I guess I never really got over it."

"Oh," he mumbles hoarsely, pulling the blankets over himself.

I let out a soft sigh. "They stopped doing that when I was sixteen. Now they pretty much ignore me completely."

"Is that why you get into fights?" Craig asks.

I smile a small smile. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe I want them to pay attention to me again, even if it results in abuse. At least they'll be acknowledging me… That's all I want from them. A slap would suffice. It sounds bad, but at least I would know that they didn't forget I exist."

"That's fucked up," he whispers, looking away and up at the ceiling. He fists the bed sheets, holding them to tight his chest.

"I guess it is," I agree. I sit up and throw my clothes back on. Craig sits up and watches. He frowns at me and I ask, "What is it?"

"Come here," he says.

Without question, I move forward.

"Hit me," he demands.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Hit me," he demands again.

"Why the fuck do you want me to hit you?" I ask.

"So I can hate you and put a stop to this before it goes too far," he says. As if that makes sense. "Show me your bad side, Kenny McCormick."

"You're fucking insane," I murmur. "I'm not going to hit you."

He just sighs, flopping back onto his pillow. "Go away, then," he murmurs.

"Why?" I ask.

"You make me sick. I'll get sick if you stay."

"What the actual fuck, Craig?" I raise my voice, growing frustrated with him.

"Go away," he repeats, not phased by my tone.

"Fine," I say, "but I'll be back." I get dressed, grab my parka and leave, closing the door behind me.

Ruby is standing there with a perverse smile. "Don't take it personally," she says, patting my shoulder.

"You were listening?" I ask with a wary sigh and she nods, as if there's not a damn thing wrong with eavesdropping on her brother getting fucked in the ass. I'll dismiss it this time. There are more important things at hand.

"Craig is always loud when he's getting boned," she says, wrinkling her nose. "It's hard _not_ to listen."

"We had sex and he literally just told me that I make him sick," I state.

"Cool it… He likes you," she whispers. "That's why he feels sick. Being around you makes him dizzy and nauseous. It's hard for him to breathe. That's the fear. He's scared. He doesn't want to lose control of his emotions and end up getting hurt. That's why he runs away from things that might be good. That's why he's such a little cocksucker, literally and figuratively."

I frown sympathetically, glancing at Craig's closed bedroom door. "I wouldn't hurt him."

"That doesn't matter," she shrugs, pocketing her hands in her cardigan. "He thinks you will. He thinks everyone will and he's so convinced of it there's no point talking reason with him. It's not always preventable, you know. He saw our mom off herself and it kind of broke him. Now he thinks all love is just a tragedy waiting to happen and it scares the living hell out of him. Everyone dies. He wants to have as little death in his life as possible."

"Life sucks," I state, starting to walk down the stairs. "You might as well enjoy it until the inevitable tragedy occurs."

"Yeah, that's how most people might see it," she agrees as she follows me, "but not Craig."

"What a fucking sin," I say piteously and Ruby just smiles, albeit bitterly. When we get to the bottom, she reaches forward and pulls my hood down. "What is it?" I ask, facing her.

"God damn it, you're good lookin'," she says. "Why do you wear the stupid parka?"

"Because I'm _too_ good looking," I joke. "It drives people mad."

"No, really," she laughs.

"Old habits die hard," I shrug. "Anyway, thanks for the compliment." Before I can stop her, she leans forward and pecks me on the lips. She draws back quickly and all I can do is sigh in irritation. "Ruby, what the fuck?" I groan, holding her by the shoulders so she won't try it again. "No… words can't even express how wrong that is."

"Why is it wrong?" she asks, grabbing my crotch.

"Jesus Christ!" I shout, moving away. "I just had sex with your brother," I deadpan. "I _fucked_ Craig. I had his knob in my fucking mouth and I liked it. I like _him_… just stop this shit."

"I don't care," she insists. "Come on, round two. You walk around like you're a fuckin' God. I want to know if you screw like one, too."

"Ask your brother," I say somewhat tartly. She laughs at that. I let go of her and shake my head. I slip my boots on and leave without another word.

* * *

At home, Karen is on the phone again, lounging on the sofa. She's probably talking to Ruby because once she spots me she gives me a sly and deviant grin. "He's home," she says into the receiver. "Yeah, I'll call you later."

I cross my arms and stand in front of her expectantly. I know she's going to give me a mouthful. "Hey, big bro," she sings after ending the phone call.

"Hey, little sis," I greet cynically.

"I meant it when I said Craig was psychotic, you know," Karen says. "He's really fucked in the head. Falling in love isn't going to make it better. If anything, it'll make it at least fifty times worse. Love doesn't fix things for people, especially people like Craig."

"I know," I tell her. "I'll be patient."

"You can only be patient for so long."

Yeah, I'll admit that's true, but we'll see.

"As you probably know, that was Ruby on the phone." She smiles slightly.

"I'm not going to fuck your friend." I grimace.

"I wouldn't want you to," she says. "That's weird and gross."

"She threw herself at me after I was with Craig," I add, choosing my words carefully. "She touched my fuckin' cock. She won't fuck off."

"Yeah," Karen cringes. "She's pretty fond of you."

"She doesn't even fucking know me," I say.

"Everyone knows, you, Kenny," Karen corrects. "It's because you don't have many secrets. Everyone knows you're a pretty openly sexual person. Everyone knows you like wearing dresses and pretending to be a girl sometimes. Everyone knows all this shit about you. You have no secrets. Just one." She's referring to my immortality. That's always a tough one to explain, hence why it's a secret to everyone except my family and my closest friends. Eric, Stan, Bebe and Kyle are the only ones who know apart from my parents and siblings. It'll probably stay that way.

"No," I deny. "People think they know me, but they don't. It's just because everyone knows my name. They know me by reputation. People like to talk."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Karen shrugs, unconvinced. "Your reputation isn't really a lie, is it?"

I wrinkle my nose. "A lot of people think I'm complete shit," I say, "but I'm not… I try not to be good."

"I know." She smiles and it's not as cynical. "You _are_ good."

I like to think it's true. "I don't know myself," I say. "If I don't know me, then there's no fucking way anyone else does."


	10. SM: Playing card games

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Wow, I finally have internet! Thanks for being patient! I'm also done exams so I'm finished school until my summer course starts! But it's only one, so I'll have plenty of time to write. **

**Some new names in this chapter. They're all actual characters though. I don't even know what's going on with this story. This is more crack than I've ever written, but bear with me. **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

We have to do the dumbass presentation today. I always get uncomfortable standing up in front of the class. I think Kyle knows this because a moment ago he leaned forward and whispered, "I'll do most of the talking. You can click the PowerPoint slides on the computer."

When the teacher enters the room, she invites the first group to the front of the class. They present on J.K. Rowling. Kyle smirks at Kenny, who rolls his eyes. He predicted someone would present on the creator of the infamous _Harry Potter_ series.

After they are finished, it's our turn and true to his words, Kyle does most of the talking. He's a natural when it comes to this kind of thing.

"…famous for writing classic children's stories such as _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_ and _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_…" he says, waving his hands around as he speaks.

After Kyle is finished, Cartman talks sloppily about Twain's views – the rights of Native Americans, African Americans, women and even animals. Things Cartman probably doesn't care too much about because he's a pig.

Kenny talks about his later life and death and Kyle wraps it up. "Right," Kyle says, "So, as you can see…" He explains how Twain's stories and characters are considered precious. by many All in all, it goes perfectly. If I were to have spoken, it would have went less than so.

We take our seats and watch the rest of the presentations. Thank God that's over.

* * *

"See, it was fine," Cartman says after class. "We _so_ got an A."

"All thanks to Kyle," I add.

Kyle smiles, rolling his eyes. "You guys helped a lot, too. Well, aside from you, asshole."

"AY!"

We helped as much as he would let us.

During lunch, Kenny ditches us to sit with Craig, Bebe and Clyde. We haven't mentioned the fact that we made out again and he hasn't propositioned me after I told him I was kind of sort of maybe into Kyle. Christ, it sounds weird, even when I say it to myself. Stan and Kyle, super best friends. Stan and Kyle, more than that? I don't know… but I did ask Kyle and he made damn sure I realized he was straight as a pole. I don't know whether or not I believe him. Oh, well. I'm still going to tell him… eventually. He can decide the rest.

"You guys goin' to Clyde's tonight?" Cartman asks. "He's havin' a get together… It'll probably turn into an open house party."

"Yeah, I'll go," I say, glancing at Kyle.

"I'll come, too," he smiles.

"Then I guess that means I _have_ to come," Cartman sighs. "Otherwise I might miss something good."

By that, he means he might miss Kenny, Kyle and I make fools of ourselves.

* * *

I go home alone today and when I return, no one is here. I assume Mom's at work. Shelly probably is, too. I take my shoes and coat off, tossing my back pack near the stairwell so I'll remember to take it to my room later. Since I have time to waste, I decide to make myself a salad. I hum as I gather ingredients and a few minutes later, the door swings open. I peek my head out the kitchen door and see Shelly.

"Hey," I greet.

"Turd," she murmurs.

"I'm making a salad," I tell her. "Do you want some?"

"Sure," she says.

I nod, going back into the kitchen. She joins me a moment later, flopping into a chair at the table. I still find it weird that we haven't been fighting. I wonder if things will ever be normal again. Neither of us say anything for a long time. I finish making the salad and get out bowls, pouring her one and myself one.

"Here," I murmur, placing it on front of her and handing her a fork. She doesn't thank me, but I wouldn't really want her to. I sit down across from her and eat quietly.

"Dad called this afternoon," she suddenly says.

"What?" I raise a brow, looking up at her.

She nods. "You were at school and Mom was already at work. I was about to leave but the phone rang."

"What did he say?" I ask, feeling impatient and anxious.

"Nothing," she says. "He just sighed into the receiver then hung up."

"Christ," I mumble. "What a moron… I'm really glad Mom wasn't here to answer that phone call."

"But maybe he would have spoken if she answered it instead of me."

"I don't know," I shrug. "Maybe, maybe not."

We're silent again, and that's okay. I finish eating and discard my dishes in the sink before going leaving the room without another word. I grab my book bag and go upstairs, where I change my shirt and pocket my cellphone.

Back downstairs, I put on my jacket and my rode off Timberland boots, shivering as I step outside.

Parties used to be exciting, now they're just a pretty normal occurrence. Weekends are boring in small towns. This is all we really have to do.

* * *

Upon arrival, I spot Craig sitting on a sofa with Jessie. They're sloppily making out and she's got what looks like a pretty tight grip on his shoulder. It doesn't take a genius to know what's up, especially seeing that one of Craig's hands is disappearing up her skirt. He's touching her. I roll my eyes at the sight and walk off to find Kyle and the fat ass.

I turn into the kitchen and find Kyle, Cartman, Bebe, Clyde, Kal, and Tweek all playing cards at the table. It makes me chuckle. Kyle is really good at cards and Cartman always cheats.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle grins upon noticing me hovering.

I hold up a hand and wave. "What game are you guys playing?" I ask, spotting the plastic chips. "Poker?"

"Yeah, poker," he tells me. I walk behind him and stare down at his deck. I never played poker before, so I have no idea if it's a good deck or a bad one.

"We should make the next round strip poker," Kal suggests with a lewd grin. I think she's joking… I _think_.

"Hell no," Kyle snorts and Tweek just twitches a few times. It's pretty hard to imagine Kenny tapping that, to be quite frank.

Kal chuckles dismissively. I watch the group of them play for a little while, standing behind Kyle the entire time and observing his deck.

When his turn comes round, he smiles and lays his cards down, saying, "Royal flush." I guess he had a good deck after all.

"Well, fuck," Cartman deadpans.

"Hey, Stan," Bebe says, "Do you want to join in on the next game?"

"I don't even know how to play poker," I snort, "and if we're doing strip poker, I definitely don't want to play because I'll be the first one naked."

"Aw," she coos. "Don't worry; we'll all be keeping our clothes on. Right, Kal?" She gives the curly haired brunette a pointed look.

"Right," Kal giggles.

"Well, all right," I shrug. "I've got nothing to lose, then." Since the table only seats six, I ask, "Is there a spare chair around?"

"No, sorry, dude," Clyde says.

"We can share," Kyle suggests.

"Er, okay," I say. He moves to the edge of the seat, leaving me a small space and half my ass is falling off the chair. "This ain't gonna work," I tell him flat out.

He presses his lips together for a moment before saying, "Then you sit here, I'll sit on your lap."

"Wow, gay," Cartman laughs.

Kyle stands up and I sit down. Bebe is chuckling at the whole ordeal as she shuffles the cards. "You too are cute as hell," she says, all smiley.

I raise a brow and so does Kyle. Then he sits on my lap like it's no big deal and I'm just hoping I don't get any dirty thoughts and spring wood on him. That would be an awkward one to explain.

"I'm going to sit this one out," Kyle says, putting an arm around my neck to keep himself from slipping off my lap.

"Aw, why?" Bebe asks.

"I'll help Stan out," he decides, "we'd just end up seeing each other's cards anyway. We're sitting too close... Besides, it'll allow someone else to win for a change."

"Okay, fair enough," she grins, dealing the cards.

Kyle explains the rules to me, but I still don't quite get it, so he ends up telling me which cards to play. I don't think he minds my idiocy though, because he's been smiling all night. Seeing it makes me smile, too.

* * *

I end up winning all thanks to Kyle and Cartman is chagrined. "That ain't fuckin' fair, you had the damn Jew helping you out the whole time," he sulks.

I just laugh at him. "Don't be a bitch, dude." A moment later I feel my cellphone vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and see a message from Kenny.

KENNY M: _staaan help! where is everyone _

I pat Kyle's side and he stands up. "I'm going to see I if I can find Kenny," I announce. "I think he got lost amongst the crowd of people out there."

"Okay," Bebe laughs. "Bring him in here if you do, yeah?"

I stand up and Kyle sits back down. "I will," I tell her.

"I'm getting restless," Kal announces vaguely. "I'll see you guys around." She stands up and follows me out.

"What're you gonna do now?" I ask her.

She taps her chin with her pointer finger and muses, "Hm…" Her eyes settle on Craig Tucker, who is no longer with her best friend. As if reading her mind, Craig looks at her from across the room. "I'm going to _socialize_," she tells me with a devious look. This won't be Kal's first time trying to get with Craig. Maybe he'll give her what she wants this time. The last time it happened we were only kids and she was under the unfortunate influence of the Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset. She wanders off before I can tell her Craig just hooked up with Jessie. Oh well, I guess it isn't really my business.

Most of the senior year is here and even some sophomores and juniors and freshmen… Holy shit! Speaking of, there's Karen and Ruby. Making out. I stare for a minute, somewhat mesmerized before snapping myself out of it. I definitely shouldn't be watching that. I turn away and enter the lobby. A few minutes later, I spot a familiar orange parka wandering throughout the crowd of kids.

"Hey, Ken!" I shout, calling him over.

He turns around and approaches me. "Hey, dude," he greets, muffled.

"Did you just get here?" I ask.

"Yeah," he nods, glancing around the room. "Have you seen Craig?"

"I saw him twice," I tell him. "He's slutting it up big time… First he was with Jessie. They were kind of huddled in the corner. I think he was fingering her because she was squirming around on his lap… Now he is with Jessie's best friend, Kal… I don't think either of them knows. It's like Craig is making a game out of it all by going after the both of them. He probably hopes it's going to cause them to fight like it did with Lola and Annie." I roll my eyes and shake my head. "He's such a fucking dick." But to be honest, Kal and Jessie are big into sharing and they probably won't care that they both screwed around with the same guy.

Kenny groans loudly once I'm done talking. "I slept with him," he admits miserably.

"What?" I ask, somewhat horrified.

"I slept with Craig," he repeats. "It was good… but then it was bad. I don't know why he's doing this."

I just shrug. "For some people it's easier to fuck around than to stay still. It's easier to fuck around with everyone than be with someone who cares because then you risk getting hurt."

"I know," he murmurs tartly.

"Anyway," I say, "your girlfriend said if I found you to bring you into the kitchen. They're playing card games."

"Which games?" he asks.

"Right now, they're playing some poker," I tell him.

"Strip poker?"

I roll my eyes. "No, not strip poker, just normal poker."

"Okay," he chuckles. "So, who is all playing?"

"Just come," I nod for him to follow me. He does so and the two of us are back in the kitchen. Inside, Bebe opens her arms for him and he bends down, giving her a hug. He takes his hood off a moment later and pecks her on the lips.

"How's poker?" he asks with a smile.

"Kyle keeps winning," she says.

"The fuckin' Jew can probably count cards," Cartman mutters.

"That's mainly used in blackjacks, you dumb cow," Kyle retorts.

Kenny laughs good naturedly. He takes Bebe's seat and allows her to sit on his lap. I do the same with Kyle once more, deciding to sit this one out. Instead, I watch Kyle play. It probably sounds creepy, like something Cartman would say, but I enjoy watching him. I like being near him like this and being able to just soak up his body heat. I'm beginning to really realize how much I love being with him. Love… what a word. I don't want to get carried away too soon, but I definitely don't think this is a phase anymore. I think it's real… and frankly, that kind of scares me.

I wrap an arm around his waist so he doesn't slip off my knee. He smiles at me before staring down at his cards.

Yeah, love.


	11. KM: When there is love

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Woah, almost 100 reviews! You guys are the best :) **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

After watching a few too many games of poker, I ditch the kitchen crew and decide to try and make my way through the other seniors. Stan comes with me, not very card savvy either. I pull my hood back up before entering the lobby and Stan decides to tell me something I'd rather not know once we're far enough away.

"Dude, I saw Karen making out with Ruby Tucker on a sofa earlier," he reveals. "A bunch of dudes were watching and whistling."

"That's probably why they did it," I mumble. "They like getting a reaction from people."

"Hm," Stan muses.

"Anyway, dude, if you ever see that kind of shit again… do me a favour and don't tell me, okay?" I laugh.

"Right, sorry," he smiles sheepishly.

"Why the hell is she even here?" I ask. "She always avoids parties I go to for this precise reason."

"Dunno, dude," Stan shrugs. "Go ask her."

"Later, perhaps," I say. Then again, I don't really need to ask her. She's probably here because Ruby wants my dick and Karen knows that makes me thoroughly uncomfortable.

"There's Craig," Stan points across the room. "He's at it again, by the looks of things…"

I turn and immediately spot him talking to fuckin' Bill Allen. Gross! Of all people! I feel my eyes narrowing… He better not do what I think he's about to do.

Craig stares at me from across the room and places a palm on the cheek of Bill, who is standing in front of him. God, I want to puke. He leans forward and they start kissing. He knows I'm watching. He _wants_ me to see it. This is his way of telling me to stop lingering, to stop trying to damn hard, to leave him alone so he won't have to keep thinking about what happened and what could happen. He's afraid, but if he'd allow me to speak to him I would tell him that it doesn't matter because even if he avoids me, it doesn't mean his feelings will disappear.

Bill slips a hand beneath Craig's shirt and I feel my jaw tighten. He allows this fucker to touch him, but he won't let me… and why? Because I care and Bill doesn't.

"Is Craig like… a whore or something?" Stan asks.

"Wendy would choke you if she heard you using that word in that context," I murmur offhandedly, still staring intently at the gruesome sight of Bill and Craig. I don't want to keep staring, but I can't help it. It's like watching a car crash. It's gross and messy and scary and upsetting, but you can't look away.

"Earth to Kenny?" Stan calls, waving a hand in my face.

"Fuck," I say, groaning.

They leave soon after and I don't hesitate to follow them, pressing my ear to the door of the room they're inside. Stan is behind me, a little wary. "What are you doing, dude?" he asks me with a sigh.

I put a finger to my lips and say, "Sh." It's difficult to hear with the loud music coming from the living room but it doesn't take a genius to know what's going on in there. I close my eyes and rub my tired eyes. Craig Tucker is one stupid fucker.

"_More… Harder_…_!_" comes Craig's voice, sounding like he's getting drunk off Bill's hate. Fuck, this is gross. Maybe I should give him the space he's asking for. I move away from the door and decide to leave. I'm not really in the partying mood anymore.

On my way, Stan stops me. "Dude, you okay?" I just shake my head and he frowns sympathetically. "Want me to walk you home?" he offers.

"Please…" I murmur.

He nods, fetching his jacket and the two of us leave.

"Are you coming back here after?" I ask.

"Probably," he says.

"This is upsetting," I say. "I want Craig to just… be normal… but I know that's insensitive of me to say. He can't help it. He's scared. People do stupid things when they're scared."

"Yeah," Stan says softly.

We enter the cold, night air. I continue to rant and Stan allows it. I'll need to talk to Bebe about this soon enough, but I have a feeling she'll be very helpful and sympathetic. She always is.

* * *

When we get to my house, I pull my hood down, thanking Stan and pecking him on the lips. He nods, smiling at me. "Feel better," he says.

I only nod and we both part ways. He walks back to the party and I walk up my driveway, through the front door.

Inside, my parents are seated in front of the television. They don't bother greeting me, so I head upstairs right away. I turn into Kevin's room and flop onto his bed. My brother is shit as company, but I don't want to be alone right now.

"What is it, Ken?" he asks offhandedly. He's lying next to me, typing something on his phone.

"I'm angry," I murmur.

"Welcome to the club," he snorts.

"Why are _you_ angry?"

"My supplier fucked me and now I've got a bunch of pissed off clients," he says with a sigh.

"Sucks," I mumble.

Kevin just nods before asking, "So, what's got your goat?"

"This guy I know, Craig, is being a bitch," I say. "I don't know why but he keeps pushing everyone away and it's tiring. He likes to play games with people… It's funny… I started this game. I thought it was going my way but I got sucked in. Now he's turned the tables."

"Well, punch him," Kevin says, as if violence is the solution to all of life's worst problems.

I stare at him, frowning. "That wouldn't solve a damn thing." Especially since Craig _wants_ me to hit him.

Kevin smirks. "You wouldn't hit him even if it was gonna solve somethin'. You're too nice. That's why this shit happens."

"Fuck off," I tell him. "That's total bullshit and you know it. There's nothing wrong with being nice. There's nothing wrong with trying to be a good person."

"Yeah, right," Kevin snorts.

"You have a habit of always making me feel worse, you know," I point out dryly.

"Yet you're here again," he says.

"Not really sure why," I tartly insist.

"Because you're upset and don't want to be left alone right now," he says, analysing me easily.

"Yeah," I admit.

"So, by the sounds of it, you've got a bit of a boy-crush on this Craig fag," Kevin laughs. "Just go talk to him and sort that shit out… Isn't that the kinda thing you'd usually do?"

"Yeah," I say again, "but it's not working. He won't let me. He just gets angry and upset and goes fucking mental."

"Keep trying," Kevin tells me. "He'll break eventually."

"Yeah, I know…" I murmur.

* * *

The following evening I decide to go visit Craig, just like Kevin said. I don't bother knocking, mainly because I don't want to see Ruby and Craig never answers the damn door. If Craig isn't here, I'll just slip back out as quiet as I came in.

I walk softly up the stairs and push Craig's door open before peering inside. Fortunately, Craig _is _here. He's sitting on his bed wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but the first thing I notice are the bruise. "What the fuck happened to you?" I yell. He's got a yellow-purple-black mark on the right side of his face and it looks like he was smacked there repeatedly.

He lets out a careless sigh. "I thought I told you to go away." There's a book in his hand, but he throws it at the wall when I speak.

"I told you I'd come back."

"What if I don't want you to?"

"Too bad, then," I say. "Did Bill do that to you?"

"I asked him to," Craig reveals.

"Why?" I raise a brow.

"Because it's fun," he explains simply.

"That makes no fucking sense."

"It does. It makes perfect sense."

"How the hell does it make sense?" I ask, drawing closer.

He sinks into himself, refusing to look at me.

"Why are you scared?" I ask, raising my voice. "There's nothing I can do to you that you haven't already done to yourself."

"You're wrong," he whispers so quietly I barely hear the words. "Leave…"

"No," I refuse.

"Leave!" he shouts. I'm still not used to him raising his voice.

"No!" I shout back and he shudders. "What scares you?" I ask him. "Tell me the fucking truth for once and I'll leave you alone. I'll leave after we're done this conversation and I swear I won't come back unless you ask me to."

"I won't," he murmurs.

"Then that's fine," I insist, though it's far from it. "I just want answers… What scares you?"

Silence.

I grab him by the shoulders, shaking him. "Talk!" I demand.

He takes a shaky breath. "Losing control," he says.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Hard drugs, too much alcohol…" he starts, "Love and falling in love…" So, he finally admits it.

"Falling in love," I repeat, letting go of his shoulders and sitting across from him on the mattress.

"Yes, falling in love."

"You're afraid of falling in love?" I reiterate. "Have you ever been in love before?"

"No, and I don't ever want to be."

"You truly are a mystery, Craig Tucker," I say. "Love is a beautiful thing."

"It's not. Love is the cruellest emotion humans are capable of feeling."

"It will happen someday," I tell him. "Pretty much everyone falls in love at some point. You can't control it."

"Don't say that," he snaps.

"Why?" I ask. "It's true."

"I can try," he murmurs.

I just roll my eyes at him.

"Sometimes I sleep with people I hate and who hate me," he admits. "That's why I slept with Bill."

"Yeah, I know…" I frown. "That's really fucking sad…"

"Hate can cause destruction, but love can ruin a person. I don't mind chaos, but I don't want to break."

He rejects love and accepts hate. I don't understand it. "Love is nice," I say.

"In the end," he starts, "it just means you have more to lose."

"Really, Craig?" I murmur sadly.

"My mom put me in piano lessons," he says suddenly. "She's the only reason I played that stupid fucking thing. I hated it. Since she's gone, I don't really have a reason to keep playing."

"Is that why you can't sleep?" I ask. "You saw something horrible and when you close your eyes, you see it. When you dream, you see it. It's stuck to the back of your eyelids and that's why you can't sleep."

He gives me an icy stare and I can tell I've hit the nail head on. He swallows audibly and his eyes glaze over. "You're an idiot," he says, before letting out a quiet and rather sudden sob.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"What the fuck for?" he asks wetly.

"I made you cry again."

"You're an idiot," he repeats. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I know," I admit, "but at least I don't deny my faults."

He closes his eyes. "Fuck you."

"Already happened," I mention.

He stares at me with glassy eyes. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to."

"But why?" he asks again. "What else is there? Why are you still here?"

"I like you," I say. "I want to get to know you."

His jaw tightens. "I don't want that."

"You might not want it," I admit, "but I think you need it. You need people that you can trust."

"I don't _need_ anything!" he snaps, wiping his cheeks dry. "There is nothing you can possibly offer me that I'll want, so fuck off already!" He stands up and suddenly we're standing face to face.

"No," I say.

Then he hits me square in the nose. I stumble backwards, but I don't fall. It hurts, but I just laugh. "I'm not going to fucking hit you back, you fucking psycho," I whisper angrily.

He hits me again.

And again.

Every time I try to open my mouth, he hits me. This is when I get pissed. I grab his hands and shove him roughly into the wall before hitting him as hard as I fucking can. "Fuck you, Craig Tucker!" I yell before beating my fist against his face again. "IS THIS WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT?" I scream. He sinks to the floor and I sink down next to him. We're both panting. My nose is still bleeding. It's running into my parka. I look down at my hand and the blood on my knuckles. I shudder, wiping them off on my jeans.

"Yes," he finally says, sitting up. "That is what I want."

I stare at him. I stare at what I did. His lip is bleeding and he's got a blooming black eye on top of the bruise Bill gave him. Fuck, he looks like hell and his eyes are wet again. "Sorry… I'm fucking sorry…"

"You're not supposed to apologize," he states. "You're ruining it."

"So, do you hate me now?" I ask, knowing that's what he's aiming for.

He wipes the blood off his lip. "No… but I should, shouldn't I?" He frowns, as if he's confused. "I don't know… I don't know why… Why don't I hate you?" he asks weakly, staring at me with a helpless look.

"Because, contrary to popular belief, love and hate aren't comparable," I explain easily. "When there's love, there isn't hate." I touch my nose and find that it's finally stopped bleeding.

"I don't love you," Craig whispers. "I don't love anyone…"

"Okay, Craig," I say. I remove my bloody hood and let out a breath, lying backwards on his carpet. I'm gonna have to wash more blood out of my favorite coat when I get home.

He moves closer and leans over me. "What now?" he asks, hovering over me.

"I'll leave," I say. "You were honest. I'll leave if you want me to… Just say you want me to leave… and I will. It's okay."

His lower lip trembles. "I don't know what I want," he admits weakly.

"That's okay, too, Craig," I tell him gently.

He leans down and presses his lips gingerly to mine. I taste the metallic tang of blood and it's mixed with salty tears, but I don't mind. Fuck it, I don't mind.

"Leave… Please," he murmurs against my mouth a moment later.

So I do.


	12. KB: Don't eat that

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for over 100 reviews! **

**Also, I hope everyone had/has a good holiday. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

We all crashed at Stan's house last night, sans Kenny, who went home early. When I finally open my eyes, Stan is already wide awake. "Good morning," I say, sitting up and stretching my arms.

"G'morning," he smiles from the doorway. "I was just coming to check on you."

"Is Cartman still unconscious downstairs?" I ask.

"Yeah," Stan snickers. "He's on the sofa."

"Think he'll be hung over?"

"Most likely," he laughs. "Tits chugged a lot of liquor last night."

Fortunately, Stan's mom wasn't mad that we all crashed at the Marsh house like a bunch of drunks. Me and Stan sobered up by the time we arrived back, so we weren't falling all over the place like Cartman. Funny. Last night, he was the one making a fool of himself.

"He's going to be a treat to deal with," I say dryly, getting out of bed.

"Hungry?" Stan offers.

"Not really." I make my way to the doorway and the two of us walk downstairs.

"Oh," Stan mumbles. "Well, I'll make something for myself, then… Let me know if you suddenly get hungry."

"Will do, Stan."

He offers a smile before peering into the fridge and I take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Turn off the light," a voice hisses upon entry. Cartman is standing there, shielding his eyes and looking particularly sour.

"Someone is hung over," I observe.

"Dude, I can't turn the lights off, I'm making food," Stan frowns.

Cartman groans loudly, taking a seat and pressing his forehead against the kitchen table. "We've told you many times that you should drink some water, but you didn't listen," I say, taking mild pleasure in his well-deserved agony.

"Yeah, yeah," he growls, "Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up."

"Guys, don't fight," Stan warns us as he cuts fruit.

"Fuck," I murmur, annoyed.

"What's up your ass this morning?" Cartman asks me.

"I don't understand why you insist on making everything your business."

Cartman lifts his head, squinting, "For the same reasons you do math, and study on weekends."

I raise an eyebrow.

"You enjoy it," he continues.

"And you enjoy making everyone's business your own?" I ask.

"Glad you caught on, wise one," he says sarcastically.

"Hm," I muse. I can't deny I enjoy studying. I don't understand why people don't enjoy it. It's exciting learning new things, and applying what you've learned… Or maybe I'm just a huge nerd.

Cartman lets out another moan, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes.

"Get some water," Stan says.

"My head hurts too badly," Cartman whines some more, "I can't move that far."

"Goddammit," I shake my head, going to fetch him a glass of water so he'll stop whining. "Drink it all," I instruct, placing the glass in front of him.

"Did you poison it?" His eyes narrow.

I scoff, "If I had poison handy, I would have killed you last night and then blamed it on your drunken stupidity."

"I see you have this all planned out," he says with what sounds like mock suspicion.

I roll my eyes, "Just drink the water."

"Thanks, Kahl," he says in a sweet, simpering tone, reaching for the glass.

"Yeah, yeah…" I mumble, sitting across from him.

Stan places a bowl in front of me even though I said I'm not hungry. Fruit salad. Simple stuff at least. As we eat, Stan watches me with a careful eye. He's not very stealthy about it, either. I prod at the food with my fork until taking the first bite.

"You were drunk last night, even though you only had one drink," Stan points out. "It wasn't even a strong drink…"

"So?" I ask.

"You're eating… right?" he asks.

I scoff. "What the fuck am I doing right now, Stan? I'm eating."

* * *

The rest of the weekend was slow and now it's Monday again. After school, my mother and father and Ike are all sitting in the living room. I can tell something stupid is about to happen.

"What's this?" I ask suspiciously.

"Bubby, we want to talk with you about something Ike feels is very important," Mom mentions gently.

I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Kyle," Ike starts, "I want you to see a therapist."

I let out a cut laugh. "And why the hell do I need to do that?"

"Don't pretend," he whispers. "I'm not fucking blind, so don't treat me like I can't see what's going on."

"Please tell me exactly what's going on," I snap, "because I don't really get what the hell this is all about."

"Your fucking OCD, Kyle!" he exclaims. "And don't think we're oblivious to your food intake, either. It's less and less every damn day."

I inhale sharply before letting out a long breath. "I'm fine," I say.

"Stop lying!" Ike pleads.

I look at my parents. "Well…?" I ask.

"Maybe you should see a doctor…" Mom agrees slowly. "You… You haven't been eating very much."

"I'm too angry to eat!" I yell stupidly and the answer makes no sense, even to me. I'm just scrambling for an excuse because the truth is too hard to say. I'm just sick of everyone talking about it. I had forgotten about it until recently. I made myself forget. It's easier that way. For a while, at least – until those feelings come back. Then it's even worse than before.

"We can't afford for you to relapse, Kyle," Dad adds. "You were doing so well…"

"Oh, I'm so sorry _we_ can't afford it," I whisper cynically. "I forgot this was about you guys. I almost forgot you were a _big_, _fancy_ lawyer. Fuck my feelings so long as your reputation is okay! We wouldn't want your clients knowing that your own son is a fuck up, would we?"

"That's not what we're saying," Ike cuts in, exasperated.

I can't be here anymore. Without bothering to kick off my shoes, I run upstairs. I lock my bedroom and rip off my jacket and throw my shoes against my wall. Surprised at myself, I immediately hang up my coat and place my shoes neatly in my closet.

"Stop this…" I whisper to myself, standing alone in my dark room. "This isn't me… This isn't me." I let out a breath, feeling clammy. I take off my clothes, placing them all in my laundry basket.

I sift through my closet for something more comfortable to wear, coming across many of Stan's hand-me-downs. I have a lot of his old clothing because when I stopped growing, he kept growing. These days, his clothes are too big for me so now Kenny gets his hand-me-downs.

I fist one of his t-shirts. It's red – his favourite color. It feels like him… It feels like Stan. I loosen my grip, slowly picking the piece of clothing up and putting it on before finding a pair of pajama pants that also once belonged to Stan.

Once I'm dressed, I make my bed and sit on it. There's a knock on my door, but I ignore it. It happens again a moment later and I hear my mom call, "Kyle?"

I don't respond.

"Kyle!"

I still don't respond.

I hear her digging at the lock, probably trying to pick it open. I close my eyes and hear the door click and then creek open. I bring my legs to my chest and hug them tight, burying my face into my knees. I hear my mom draw closer and I feel the bed indent as she sits on the edge. "Ike came home from school today and do you know what he did, Kyle?" she asks me. Without waiting for a response, she answers her own question. "He cried. He was crying for _you_, his big brother. He's concerned. He's scared. "

"Well, I'm scared, too!" I yell, raising my head and opening my eyes.

"Why?" she asks weakly. "Bubby, talk to me. I can't help if you don't talk to me."

"It's not my fault!" I continue yelling. "It's not my fault I'm like this! It's everyone else! I can't… I can't fucking handle it…! I can't even breathe!" The words leave my mouth with barely any thought. I feel the tears slipping and I can't be fucked to brush them away.

She looks like she's at a loss. She just opens her arms and pulls my close. I sob and apologize repeatedly, though part of me isn't even sure why I'm saying sorry. Everything is just too fucked up.

After I quiet down substantially, to the point of whimpers and hiccups, Ike shows up in the doorway with Stan. I spot them over my mom's shoulder. One part of me wants to tell Stan to leave, because I don't want him seeing me like this… but the larger part of me wants him to stay because I feel like I need him. I move away from my mom and Stan takes a step into my room.

"Kyle…" he says my name quietly, eyebrows drawn together sadly.

"Stan," I say weakly. He approaches me and opens his arms. I stand up and hug him, pressing my face into his strong chest. I don't know for how long, but eventually my mom gets up and leaves and Ike stops hovering in the doorway.

Stan and I settle on my bed when I'm no longer crying. He sits against my pillow and I sit between his legs, my back pressed up against his chest. He has his arms locked around my stomach and neither of us speaks for a long time.

There's a voice in my head and it tells me what to do.

_Don't eat that. Don't eat that because you don't need it. You'll regret it. Control yourself. _

_Wash your hands. It will make everything okay. You don't want to make them angry, just wash your hands. _

_Keep things in order. It will make everything okay. You don't want to make them angry, so just make sure everything is perfect. _

_Control yourself._

_Be perfect._

_You don't want to make them angry. _

_Make it okay. _

_Make it okay, Kyle. It's so simple. This is all you need to do, so do it. Do it, Kyle. Do it now. _

I want to listen, but Stan has his arms around me and I can't move. I squeeze my eyes shut as thoughts bombard my brain and when I open them, it brings on a new onslaught of tears. Stan continues holding me tightly as I shake and quietly sob. He has a hand on my stomach and I want him to move it, but I can't get the words out.

"Ike called me," Stan finally says. When I don't respond, he just adds, "It's fine, you don't have to talk… I'll just talk a bit, if it's okay." He tightens his grip on me even more. "We're all worried about you. I think Cartman is even a bit worried… You haven't been yourself."

I let out a breath, wanting him to stop.

"Your mom made the appointment, Kyle," he says gently. "It's tomorrow at noon. They were able to get you in early."

I swallow a whimper and breathe. "Will you come?" I ask, tearing up yet again.

"Yeah," he says, "I'll come." He loosens his grip on my and brings one hand to my forehead. "You're all right…" he says. "Everything is going to be okay, even though it isn't right now. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I murmur, wiping my eyes.

"Hm," he muses, lowering his hand and wrapping it around my shoulders. I feel his chin on top of my head and I feel him sigh into my hair. "I'm not," he insists. "This is a promise I can keep."

"Are you sure you want to?" I wonder aloud.

"I want to," he says.

"Why?"

"You're my best friend," he tells me. "I fucking love you."

"Can we rest?" I suddenly ask, not in the mood to talk about things deemed important.

"Sure, Kyle," he says. He lets go of me so we can get comfortable beneath the blankets.

"I'll be fine," I say aloud, trying to convince myself of it. "I'll be fine."

"Yes," Stan agrees. "You'll be fine."

"I'll be fine," I say again, "but right now I'm not." I guess I'm just giving him the confession he wants.

"Right," Stan agrees once more, "and that's okay, Kyle."

"I don't want to see a doctor…" I whisper.

"I'm sorry," Stan apologizes, "but you need to see a doctor. If you don't, then everything will just get worse."

I let out a breath, clinging to Stan as if he holds the key to my sanity.

It's a strange and sad feeling… having your own body as the enemy.

* * *

Stan stays the night. Neither of us goes to school on Tuesday. When I wake up, he is no longer in my bed. Instead, I find him downstairs having coffee with my parents.

"Hey, Kyle," he greets, being the first one to spot me.

"Hi, Bubby," Mom smiles. "We were just about to wake you."

"Kyle," says my dad. "Are you ready to see the doctor?"

I close my eyes. Forced help doesn't work and I don't know if I'm ready to say I need it. It's easier to deny it. "No," I say.

They all look nervous. Stan gets to his feet and abandons his half empty cup of coffee. "Let's get ready for the day, yeah?" He tries to usher me back upstairs.

"I am ready," I murmur.

"You're wearing pajamas," he notes. "My old pajamas…"

"I like them," I softly admit. "They feel like you."

He smiles. "All right," he relents. "Should we head out, then?"

Downstairs, my parents look like they're ready to leave. "I don't want you to come," I tell them.

They frown at this. "But Kyle –" my mom starts.

"No," I cut her off. "You're not coming."

She shares a look with my dad, but they relent. They hand Stan the car keys and my dad says, "We're trusting you with him."

"Okay," Stan says quietly, taking the keys.

We both look like we just rolled out of bed as we leave the house. I suppose we just _did_ roll out of bed. We get into the car and Stan starts it, pulling out of the driveway. The drive is quiet and it makes me feel anxious. I just want Stan to fucking say something.

"Stan?" I say his name.

He sighs. "Kyle… I really hope you take these sessions seriously. I need you to… I want you to be happy. You deserve to be so fucking happy. I just wish you could see that."

"Shut up," I murmur.

We arrive to the therapist's office soon and Stan parks the car. We walk inside and Stan does all the talking for me at the receptionist's desk.

There's a woman screaming nearby, sound like she's going mad. That's not me… I don't fucking know why I'm here because I'm not like that. I'm not like her. I'm not fucking mental. I don't belong here. I don't _need_ to be here.

"Kyle Broflovski," I hear my name get called.

I look at Stan, who simply nods and the two of us stand, following an aged man into an office. The room is small. There is only a desk and a sofa, with some documents hanging on the wall. When I look closer, I see that they are degrees.

Stan and I sit on the sofa while the doctor sits behind his desk. He begins speaking, introducing himself and asking who Stan is. I don't respond, so Stan answers for me. "I'm Stan, Kyle's best friend."

The doctor gives me a gentle smile. "Kyle…? Do you want to answer the next question?"

"No," I murmur airily.

"Why not?" he asks. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I don't know why," I admit, staring everywhere but at him.

"I think you do," he insists.

"I don't," I repeat myself. "Everyone is being really dramatic."

"Okay," he relents before requesting, "How about you tell me about your family."

Stan offers his hand and I hold it tightly, probably a little too tightly but he doesn't mention it. "Not really," I say.

"This isn't going to work out if you aren't going to talk, Kyle," the doctor says softly.

Stan gives me a gentle nudge, urging me to say something. I press my lips together for a moment before sighing. "I have a brother who is thirteen," I tell him. "His name is Ike… Well, Isaac Moisha, but we call him Ike. He's adopted from Canada." It's not anything immensely important or relevant… but it's something. It's a start.

* * *

After a lot of questions without answers, after a few too many angry tears from me, and after a few strings of expletives from Stan, the doctor seems satisfied but he wants to make the sessions regular. Stan, on the other hand, seems angry.

"Why are you mad?" I ask weakly on the drive back home.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. "I'm not."

"You are!" I call him out on lying. "Why are you so mad?"

"Because," is all he says.

When we arrive back to my place, I feel distraught and shaky. Stan confronts my mom and he gets upset. "_YOU_ DID THIS TO HIM!" I hear him shout at her. Mom looks taken aback, but she says nothing so Stan continue shouting. "I knew it! I bet even the damn doctor probably assumed as much! If you weren't constantly trying to control _every_ aspect of his life, then maybe he wouldn't have so much fucking anxiety! He wouldn't be like _this_!" Like this?

I expect her to start screaming back at him, but she doesn't. "Stanley," she says in an eerily calm tone, "I think you should leave now."

"Why?" he asks angrily. "So you can fuck him up some more?"

While they yell, I wander into the kitchen in a daze and eat an apple. Healthy food. _Food_. I feel nauseous and my stomach is in knots even before I get the food down. I don't know if it's because I'm hungry or if it's because I'm upset. Nonetheless, I force myself to eat, ignoring the voice that is telling me to stopstopstopstopstop but I can't block out the angry voices coming from the other side of the wall. Ike is trying to calm everyone down, but it's not working.

When I'm done I wash everything down with a glass of water. Then, I feel sicker. I can feel the contents of my gut shift. I let out a breath, holding onto the counter with one hand as I bend over and proceed to vomit on the floor.

My mom shovels into the kitchen a split second later. She's in a frenzy, probably having heard me puke. "Kyle, no!" she shouts at me. My Dad looks mortified, Ike looks sad and Stan looks devastated.

Suddenly, everything is quiet. No one is yelling, but I can tell they're angry.

I stare down at the repulsive mess, feeling disgusted with myself. I leave the room quickly and run upstairs, shutting myself away in the bathroom. I strip out of my clothing and get in the shower, sitting on the tiles and letting the water run over me. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I keep repeating.

I hear the door creak open a few minutes later, but I don't move the curtain to see who it is. A hand reaches in and turns the tap off. It's Ike's hand.

"I didn't mean to…" I whisper.

He pulls the curtain back. "I know," he says softly. "I told Mom, Dad and Stan that. It's hard to keep food down when you've spent so long eating so little."

I'd like to believe that, but I know it's not the reason. I don't eat a lot, especially as of late… but it hasn't gotten to that point. Maybe it was a psychosomatic response. Maybe I'm just here fucking myself. "I haven't thrown up in almost two years…" I murmur. "Why is this all coming back now?"

"Relapse is normal," Ike says, "the therapist can help you… if you let him." He grabs a towel from the cupboard and hands it to me. I stand up, wrapping myself in it and stepping out of the bath before sinking onto the floor.

"I'm not relapsing," I insist.

Ike doesn't respond to that. He just sits down beside me and says, "Stan blew up at Mom."

"I was there," I murmur.

"It upset you, didn't it? He showered her with expletives after you ran up here."

"Oh…" I sigh sadly, not liking the thought of my best friend and my mom fighting with one another.

Stan enters the room a moment later with a glass of water and joins us on the floor. "Here," he offers.

"I thought my mom told you to leave," I say, taking the cup and slowly sipping its contents.

He smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, she did… I cussed her off a bit… but I apologized just now, so…"

"Good," I tell him.

"It's probably best Mom realizes the mistakes she's made," Ike adds. "She… She can be a bit much sometimes. She lacks tact, even now."

"I'll fuckin' say," Stan says. He reaches forward and touches my wet hair.

"You're not supposed to throw the blame around," I tell them. "No matter how justified you feel it is… You'll only make it worse. I learned that from my first round of therapy when I was fifteen."

Stan frowns at this, but doesn't comment.

"I didn't mean to throw up," I add. "I didn't want to… I just felt so… Fuck, I don't know."

"It's okay, Kyle," he says. "I understand."

"Do you really?" I ask. "Or are you just saying that?"

"I believe you," he insists.

I close my eyes. "You should go home, Stan. I'm okay now."

He gives a few nods, relenting. He grabs my face and pecks the top of my head. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I force a wary smile. "Tomorrow."


	13. SM: Have a nice life

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thank you guys for always leaving such nice reviews :)**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Wednesday night. Five minutes ago my idiot of a father came home. Naturally, my parents are now arguing. Mom is angry he left when he should have stayed and he is angry, insisting that she's trying to control his life. How immature. I'll have to let my parents figure their own shit out and remember that none of this is my fault.

Shelly stomps past me and runs upstairs shouting, "I HATE THIS FAMILY!" I don't really blame her. Sometimes I hate us, too.

I decide to go visit Kenny because it's pissing me off being here. When I get there, I walk straight in and go up to Kenny's bedroom. I knock and hear his strained voice yell, "Who is it?"

"Stan," I say slowly.

"Oh," he says in the same, strained voice. "You can come in."

"Dude, are you fuckin' masturbating?" I ask, not quite sure if that's something I should be seeing.

Nothing, just a "hng" sound, as if that doesn't make the answer completely obvious. I cut my losses and swing the door open, slipping inside and shutting it again. It's dim inside but I can clearly see Kenny lying against a pillow on his bed. I can see his hand moving in his shorts. I sit near the end of his mattress with my back facing him and he laughs, asking, "Why so far away, Stan?" His tone is taunting.

"Yeah fucking right," I murmur.

"You can look if you want," he says carelessly. "I don't mind." I feel one of his feet dig into my back.

"You're a horny perv," I tell him. Nonetheless, I turn around and he smirks, leaning on his back and lifting his hips before shrugging out of his shorts. "Yeah, a serious fucking perv," I reiterate, staring at the lewd display.

"You're the one watching, stud," he teases. "Just enjoy the fucking show." He lifts his spread legs up high and I'm seeing a side of Kenny I'm sure only Bebe has gotten to see when she fucked him with her damn strap on. I feel myself blush as I watch. I'm just glad it's a bit dim; otherwise he'd call me out for having such a red face. I watch him for a few minutes, staring at his thighs and ass and it makes me feel weird as hell. When did things get so fucking gay? "What now?" he asks, breathing heavily. "If you want to fuck me, I'll let you."

I'm hard and just because of that, I'd like to say yes… but I won't. "No," I close my eyes, ignoring my erection. "This isn't right… This is really fucking wrong…"

"Who cares?" he pants. "Who fucking cares… You want to. I can tell you've wanted to for a while."

"You're upset about Craig," I say. "That's why you're doing this. We'd both regret it. A bit of kissing is one thing, but fucking is something else completely."

"Friends do this kind of shit all the time. Kissing, touching, sucking, fucking… It doesn't matter." He sits up a moment later and settles on my lap, pressing his lips to mine. I inch my mouth open and I feel his hand travelling down my abdomen. "You're hard," he says once we part.

Everything feels hazy and I'm wicked horny. Kenny takes one of my hands and places it on his cock. I curl my fingers around it, touching him the way I'd touch myself.

"Feels nice…" he mumbles, closing his fluttery eyelids.

"I'm not going to fuck you," I tell him. He's lonely. So am I, in a way, but that doesn't mean we should do something like this. "It'd fuck things up. I want Kyle… He'd hate it if he found out."

"Then why is your hand still on my dick?" he asks.

"I don't know," I mutter.

He opens his eyes and smiles at me. It's a strange sort of smile, one I haven't seen him wear before. He looks bitter. "It's okay, Stan." I let go of him and he moves away. He reaches for something in a nearby drawer and pulls out a dildo. "I'll just fuck myself." He puts it in his mouth, getting it wet.

"Won't that hurt?" I ask.

"I hope so," he says lightly, causing me to frown. "I'm too lazy to look for lube, so this'll do." He places the suction cupped end on the floor, sitting on it.

I watch with a strange and perverted kind of awe, wishing I could find it in me to look away because I know this isn't okay. He's upset. I can tell. He never acts like this. He's so level-headed. This doesn't suit him at all. "Kenny…?" I say his name.

"Be quiet, Stan," he murmurs, closing his eyes. Neither of us speaks again for a while. He continues jerking off and riding the plastic dick, letting out a string of quiet moans as he climaxes.

"Why're you acting like this?" I ask quietly, unable to speak any louder. "You never act like this."

He licks the mess off his hand, slowly lifting himself and standing. "I'm frustrated," he admits, wiping his stomach off with a tissue and putting his shorts back on. He doesn't put the dildo away. He just lets it sit there.

"Sexually?" I ask, trying to will my boner away. I will never be able to explain how much self-control it took not to accept Kenny's offer, but I know it's for the best that I didn't.

"No, just frustrated," he answers simply.

"Want to tell me why?" I offer.

He flops back onto his bed and pats the spot beside him. I lie next to him and he says, "Craig… It's always Craig fuckin' Tucker lately."

"You like him a lot, hm?"

"Yeah, but he keeps fucking around," Kenny murmurs. "We fought the other day. I mean, we _really_ fought. There were punches thrown and blood, too… Then he kissed me. We didn't fuck again. We just kissed then he drew back and told me he wanted me to go away. I told him I would leave if he asked me to. I didn't think he was really going to, but he did. He hasn't been at school at all this week. It's driving me fucking mental. I know he's avoiding me… but I wish he wouldn't. For once, I don't know what to fucking do."

"Go see him," I suggest.

Kenny shakes his head. "I promised him I'd back off if he asked me to. I need to just… wait it out. Maybe if I just wait for him to come to me then I won't have to keep seeing the worst side of him."

"Oh…" I murmur. "Maybe."

"Love is always a risk," he tells me, smiling bitterly. "To love… is to be willing to open yourself up completely. It is to be willing to leave yourself vulnerable to the other person. It's scary and wonderful. Craig taught me it could be scary. I used to think it was just wonderful. I see now that it's not. There are two sides to it. I never understood that before."

"Oh," is all I say. I wish Kenny never decided to befriend Craig Tucker. He's slowly turning him into a pessimist. I don't like it one bit.

"I don't know. He's confusing as hell… It's like, just when I think it's okay he makes me see that it's not. It's a piss-off… I'd just like to feel like things are all right for a while instead of just a few minutes. It's like a constant, never ending bait and switch."

"Sounds tiring," I say.

"It is… I don't know what to do anymore."

"Maybe all you _can_ do is wait." I'm probably not making him feel any better, but I'm bad at this kind of shit. My relationships have been total failures and my love life isn't exactly blossoming.

He sighs. "Yeah, maybe. Things'll probably work out, huh? Things always work out…"

"Yeah. Be patient."

"Is that what you're doing?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's what I'm doing." Or rather, that's what I'm trying to do.

"Sorry for, like… you know," he trails off. "Being a horny slut."

I just smile. "It's fine, Kenny. We're friends…"

"Yes," he agrees.

"Just don't do anything stupid," I warn him. "Sure, you fuck around with friends but you aren't the type of person to fuck people who don't matter to you. If you do that, you'll just end up hating yourself like Craig. Plus, there's STDs."

"Don't worry. I'll be good," he promises.

* * *

We continue hanging out for a while longer, just talking about shit that doesn't matter – nothing heavy. I leave around 6PM and when I get home, my parents are sitting in the living room with Shelly, who looks upset and angry. Everything is quiet… too quiet. "What the fuck's this?" I ask tersely, though I already know what it is.

"Language, Stanley," Mom weakly warns.

"Fuck that," I snap. "Just tell me what the hell is going on. What is this?"

She lets out a soft sigh, sharing a look with my dad. "Your father and I think it would be best… if we separated."

"You're getting a divorce?" I ask.

"No," Dad cuts in. "No one said the word _divorce_. We just need some time apart."

"You fucking ran away!" I shout. "You ran away. You were gone for a while. Wasn't that enough fucking time? If you're gonna get a divorce, just do it now. More time isn't going to fix this. You guys messed it all up. You just fucking _fucked_ it!"

"Stanley Randall Marsh!" Mom shouts back. "Mind your language!"

Shelly has her eyes closed. "I hate this family…" she murmurs, rubbing her temples. "I really hate this family."

"Stanley," Mom starts again, "your father is moving out. You can either go with him, or stay with me and your sister in this house."

"I'm not choosing," I murmur.

"Sleep on it…" she says. "You don't have to decide now."

"Whatever." I go upstairs and into my room, locking the door so they can't come and talk to me. I don't want to hear about how sorry they are and I definitely don't want to hear about how hard this is for them. I don't care. I'm young and selfish. I just want us to be a normal family. It's all I've ever wanted… but we're not a normal family. My sister is a violent bitch and my parents have always fought. I wonder if they fight more than Kenny's parents do. Probably not. Or maybe it's just a different kind of fighting.

* * *

At school the next morning, Kyle looks on edge. "What's wrong?" I ask him as I sit next to him in homeroom.

"It's almost the weekend," he states.

"Amen to that," Cartman mutters and Kenny just looks miserable.

"Yeah, and…?" I urge Kyle to continue.

"That means it's almost the start of a new week."

Right, his therapy sessions. "Do you want me to come with you like I did last week?" I ask.

"No," he murmurs. "I should be able to do this on my own, right?"

I smile gently. "It's fine if you can't just yet."

He sighs. "The doctor spoke to my parents and said he wants to try family therapy eventually… Since apparently my OCD has affected everyone." His tone is bitter and cynical. "I guess that makes me pretty selfish, huh?"

"No," I say. "It's an anxiety disorder, right? You can't help it…"

"Shut up," he whispers.

I frown. "Kyle, I thought we were past this. You made progress in just one session. You spoke to the doctor… you told him things."

"Nothing important," Kyle insists. "I just told him stupid things, answering his stupid questions and letting him come up with a stupid deduction."

I close my eyes briefly. "Fine… Okay." I'm just glad Cartman has enough tact to keep his mouth shut right now.

Some days are better than others. Kyle has always been a bit moody. I hate it when he gets like this.

"You know," I say, "I used to think only girls got eating disorders. It's stupid, huh?" And maybe that's why I didn't understand the severity of what was happening to him when we were fifteen. I just… let it be.

"I don't have an eating disorder," he whispers.

"But you did…" I say. "Relapse is normal…"

"I'm not relapsing!" he shouts, eliciting stares from other students. He flushes slightly and quietly repeats, "I'm not relapsing…"

"Fine," I murmur. It happens like this. He gets spiteful and everyone else gets scared. We tiptoe around him and around the issues. He refuses food and we're all forced to do what he wants us to because we're at a loss. Maybe that's how he gains control – not of himself, but of everyone else.

"Why don't you believe me?" he asks, voice wavering.

"You lie a lot, Kyle…" I say slowly. "You've always lied a lot."

"But I'm not lying now," he bites. "So fuck you, Stan."

The teacher enters and Kyle turns away from me, staring straight ahead. He doesn't speak again, he simply listens to the lecture and when the teacher passes around a work sheet, he still remains silent.

"Come on, Kyle…"

Silence.

"Kyle?"

Silence.

"Kyle…"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Cartman cuts in with hiss. "Just fucking answer him, Jew. I'm sick of you two whining at each other like a married couple."

"Mind your own business," I murmur.

"Bitch," he retorts.

"Hush," Kenny says. "If Kyle doesn't want to talk, we can't force him to."

True enough. I sigh, giving up. I stare down at my work sheet and begin to fill in the answers I know. Everyone is chattering amongst themselves, working together to finish the stupid fucking work sheet and Kyle still won't say a damn word.

"What did you guys get for A?" Cartman asks us.

"I didn't get that one," I admit. "I only got C, D, F, and H."

"Fuck," he mumbles. He turns back around and takes Kyle's page.

"Hey!" he snaps. "I'm not going to help you cheat, dumbass!"

"Don't be a bitch." Cartman hands his paper back a moment later and scribbles Kyle's answer down on his own sheet. "Kahl seems to have a little sand in his vagina. Stan, mind helping him get it out?"

"That's not funny," I mutter.

* * *

After school, my parents ask for my decision. "I'm not leaving," I tersely tell them. "I'm not choosing either of you. I'm just not leaving." I guess, in a way, that means I chose Mom, but I'm not going to say it like that.

"Okay, sweetie," she says.

"Bye, Dad." My tone is cold. "Have a nice fucking life."

"I'll still be around," he tries.

"No, you won't," I laugh. "Don't fucking joke. Do you remember the last time you and mom split up? You were gone all the time, out partying with young girls. You had me for all of five minutes and you dropped me off back at home because you had something better to do! And let's not forget about all your DUIs! I guess it doesn't matter that I was in the fuckin' car with you half the time as long as you didn't ruin your _buzz_."

He looks guilty and I can't feel sympathetic. Not yet. I know I will, though. I'll feel bad for yelling and it will make me feel even worse about the whole damn thing.


	14. KM: The truth

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**So, I've been thinking about something. For possible ideas for any of my future stories – what would you guys like to see me write about? Plots ideas/pairings/themes are welcome for future stories or for my WIPs (listed on my profile!). If you guys have any suggestions you can drop me a PM or leave a review. Thanks! **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

Stan has been moody, but I haven't gotten him alone so I haven't had the chance to ask him what's up. It probably has to do with his parents or Kyle. It's one of the two. He'll talk when he's ready.

I see Craig in the crowded hallway at school on Friday. He looks tired as ever dressed in pajama pants, a t-shirt and an oversized hoodie. He looks small. It's funny. When we were young, he was one of the tallest kids in class.

I offer him a smile and hold up my hand. He doesn't say anything, but he takes a few steps towards me. When we're standing in front of one another, be presses the palms of his hands flat to my chest and sinks into me. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close.

"Craig…?" I say his name, trying to ask if he's all right.

"Shut up," he murmurs. "Don't ruin the moment… Let's just _be_ for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," I say softly, burying my face in his hair. He smells like vanilla. There are kids staring at us, but I don't give a shit. When he pulls away, he takes my hand and we go to the boy's locker room. He unzips my parka and we proceed to claim a bench and make out.

"I want you…" I mumble.

"Please, _don't_," he says with blunt distaste, drawing away.

I shake my head. "I mean it. I fucking want you. Shit, maybe it's love. I can't help it."

He closes his eyes. "Stop… You're making this too complicated."

"You're views on love are too warped," I tell him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're a liar," he murmurs.

"Just because you've been avoiding me, it doesn't mean your feelings are going to disappear," I point out.

He leans his head against my shoulder. "Skip your morning classes today," he says. "We'll do something interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah, interesting." He lifts his head and gives me a peck on the lips before standing. He takes off his sweater and lifts his shirt up over his head before stepping out of his shoes. He slips his fingers in the rim of his pajama pants before tugging them down.

"Craig?" I say his name yet again, dry mouthed and painfully aware of my growing erection.

"Sh," he commands.

"What if someone comes in?" I ask, glancing around. That would be a bit of a mood killer for me.

"Don't tell me you're _scared_?" he asks and there's something in his voice that's taunting me.

"I'm not," I insist.

"It's Friday," he states, stepping towards me again. "There are no gym classes in the morning, so it's not likely."

"Oh," I say.

He sits in my lap and reaches a hand into my sweatpants and pulling out my dick. He then arches forward, grinding his hips against mine in a steady, ongoing rhythm. He stares at me with eyes half lidded as his breathing quickens. I move forward and close the gap between our faces. We kiss sloppily, panting and moaning. He grabs my shoulders, steadying himself as we continue to rub up against each other, causing friction.

I wrap one hand around his back while I wrap the other around both of our cocks. I have him like this yet again. He came to me this time… and maybe that means something. I really want it to.

Craig rocks his hips upward, into my hand. "Fuck…" he breathes. "I'm close…"

"Me, too…" I work my hand faster as the familiar feeling explodes in my groin. Craig throws his head back and pants loudly. I wonder if I'll ever get used to seeing this side of him. It leaves me wanting more.

I let out a pleasured sigh. "Mm…" I've also gotta say I'm pretty satisfied at my aim. I didn't jizz on my clothes.

Craig lets go of me and moves away, staring down at the mess of rapidly cooling spooge sitting on his stomach. Without another word and without getting dressed, he walks around the corner. I zip up my parka, pick up his discarded clothing and follow him.

"I'm going to wash off," he says, entering a shower stall and turning on the tap.

"All right," I murmur. He doesn't seem to be upset today. I'm just hoping he won't suddenly start crying and then tell me to leave him alone. He's confusing. I don't know what he's thinking and I don't know what he wants. He doesn't know, either.

After Craig rinses himself off, he fetches a towel from his gym locker and dries off. "Here," I hand him his clothing and he gets dressed.

He offers me the smallest of smiles, taking my hand again as we leave the locker room. "We just humped each other," I state. "And a little while ago we had sex."

"Yes, we did…" Craig says. "Very astute observations. I never knew you were so smart."

I ignore the sarcasm and ask, "What does it mean?"

"Does it have to mean anything?"

"Well, I'd like it to…" I admit, "but I'll give you more time if it's what you need."

He simply nods his head.

I know he likes me, though. Why else would he hold my hand? "We haven't played the game in a while," I mention. "So, I'm going to ask you a question and remember – you need to answer it."

He closes his eyes, tightening his grip on my hand as we walk. "Just don't ask me anything important."

"Then what the fuck's the point?" I sigh, exasperated. "You're missing it completely, Craig. No matter who wins and who loses, you end the game with a fucking friend. Let yourself feel something good for a change."

After a pause he opens his eyes. "Maybe I don't want a friend," he says.

"Then what do you want?" I ask.

"I don't know what I want. I already told you that."

"Why don't you try and figure it out?"

"Because that takes too much effort," he says.

I drag him into a nearby empty classroom and shut the door.

"Why are we in here?" he asks, looking unimpressed.

"Tell me how you saw your mom die," I request, knowing it's probably his most important memory. It's the memory that shaped him the most and influenced him to become who he is today. I just want to understand. Maybe this will help me do so.

"You're an asshole, McCormick," he whispers.

"Yeah? So are you" I retort.

He sighs angrily, letting go of my hand and crossing his arms. "I was twelve," he starts tersely, turning around so he won't have to face me. He stares out the classroom windows, down at the falling snow. "It was the night before Christmas Eve. Dad was asleep… So was Ruby. I heard footsteps outside my door. Before that, I never had trouble sleeping but I as a light sleeper. So, I got out of bed and quietly followed my mom downstairs. She pulled a gun out of a cabinet they kept locked. I never knew why they kept it locked, but I knew then. It was where my parents kept the gun. With it, she walked onto the balcony out back. I was frozen. I didn't know what to do. She was only wearing a nightdress. Her feet were bare and she was walking on the snow. I knew she must've been cold. Slowly, I made my way to the open door. I just stood there, staring at her. Snow was getting in the house. I felt it in my feet. It was cold and the wind was blowing straight through my clothes. I was scared. The whole thing was eerie and my voice got caught in my throat. Just as I tried to call to her, she raised the gun and shot herself in the temple. Just like that – blood everywhere. I watched it happen… I watched her die." His voice is far away, as if he's mentally trying to distance himself from the things he's talking about. "So, I screamed. My dad and Ruby woke up, but he made her stay upstairs. I guess he had a bad feeling. So, he came downstairs and called 911 when he saw it… You know, sometimes I feel like he might blame me for not acting quicker. Maybe that's why he won't look at me."

I take a step towards him. I put a hand on his shoulder and force him to look at me. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are dry, but his face is flushed and his nose is red. I can tell he wants to cry. "I'm really fucking sorry," I say sincerely. I guess I understand why he hates Christmas now.

His lips part and he inhales deeply before exhaling. He nods and when he opens his eyes, they're glassy, but still, he doesn't cry. "Let's go," he says.

"You can ask me a question," I tell him. "You can make it painful."

"I can't think of anything," he murmurs.

"Okay, that's fine."

We leave the room and Craig gets his jacket from his locker. Once he puts it on we leave the school through the back exit, sitting on the cement stairwell.

"What's wrong with Kyle Broflovski lately?" Craig asks suddenly. "He's all emotional and shit…"

"He's got pretty intense OCD," I say. "Plus he was hospitalized a couple years back and everyone is worried that a relapse is in the near future."

"He was anorexic…" Craig states as if recalling a distant memory. "Are you worried, too?"

I shake my head. "Kyle is tough. He's smart. He's learned from his mistakes. He's not going to hurt himself like that again."

"Hm," Craig muses thoughtfully, but says nothing more and we fall into another silence. We watch it fall and eventually the bell rings, signalling lunch break. We go back inside and part ways without another word.

It's progression – yeah, it's slow, but it's progression nonetheless.

Knowing Craig Tucker is like trying to breathe under water – it's fucking impossible. Knowing Craig Tucker is like trying to swim when you don't know how – it hurts and there's a fear of drowning. I never got that before. I used to think love was always something effortless. Now I see that it's not.

* * *

After lunch, I have my philosophy elective with Bebe and Kyle. I don't know why Kyle insists on taking philosophy classes. Debating his existence freaks him out on a big scale, but he is still as engaged as ever, answering all the teacher's questions. Sometimes it's fun hearing about all these little theories and then being able to know for myself whether they're true or not. I'm special. I know more than I should.

After class, I ask Bebe to talk. She accepts and we walk home together. "So, what's on your mind?" she asks, giving me an encouraging smile.

I let out a sigh before laughing somewhat bitterly. "I'm into someone," I reveal.

She nods, urging me to continue. She's still smiling that same smile, so I guess she isn't too surprised.

"I want to pursue him… I know I'm just going to end up fucking myself in the end, but I still want to try," I tell her.

"Okay," she says. "It's Craig, huh?"

"Yeah," I snort. "It's that obvious, huh?"

"A little," she laughs. "I've never really seen you take an interest in someone as much as you've taken an interest in him. I knew for a while."

"Oh," I say softly. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Bebe can read me like a book. I can do the same to her. That's part of what makes us so special.

"You taught me a lot," Bebe says, "but I think Craig needs you now. I'm okay with that."

"I fucking love you," I tell her. "I mean that, you know."

"I know," she grins. "I love you, too." My relationship with Bebe was like a fucking fairy tale. I can tell whatever is happening with Craig will be much different. "If anyone can help him out, it's you," she continues. "But be careful. I was talking to Clyde and he said Craig hurts people who care about him so they'll go away."

"I know," I murmur, frowning. "He's tried."

"He acts like he's a horrible person… but I don't think he truly is. I don't think anyone is really as mean as he likes to pretend he is."

"Me neither," I agree. "It must get tiring…"

"Yeah," she sighs.

"Well," I deadpan, tossing an arm around her, "it's okay. I'll try not to get my hopes up because I know he's stubborn. He's just too scared to think about other people."

"I hope it all works out perfectly," she says, putting an arm around my waist.

"Me, too…"

"Hey, Kenny?" she glances over at me.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember a while back when you were hung over and I was talking to you about important things… Like the first time I saw you, and when you asked me out… and things like that?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say fondly.

"I guess we should talk about that now, huh?"

I take off my hood as we reach her driveway. "If you're ready," I tell her, offering a smile.

"I wanted you to know how important you are to me," she says, "and even though the relationship we have is starting to disintegrate, you'll always be one of the most important people in my life."

"Likewise," I agree. We were perfect. It lasted for two years, but everything comes to an end. It's okay. Besides, it's not like I'm losing her.

"But… I've been spending a lot of time with Clyde lately," she continues. I've noticed that. I know what is going to happen and for some reason, it feels all okay. "Do you want to come over for a bit?" she offers.

"Yeah, sure," I accept. But this time we don't have sex or fool around. Now that everything is out in the open, it wouldn't feel right.

"So, you and Clyde?" I say knowingly.

She smiles. "It appears that way… Hey, if you and Craig do end up together, we'll all be able to go on double dates."

"I bet that would absolutely thrill Craig," I chuckle.


	15. SM: Kyle's photo album

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for suggestions/reviews :) **

**Also, I made a sideblog last month on tumblr to reblog fandom-related stuff. The link is on my profile. My username is the same over there as it is here! If anyone wants the link to my personal/main blog, they can message me for it~ **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

I just got to Kyle's house. Sheila tells me she found Kyle passed out in the shower this morning and Kyle gets mad at her for telling me. When we walk upstairs, I find his bedroom door missing. He takes in my reaction with a sigh. "My punishment... My parents got rid of my bedroom door and they put a new handle on the bathroom," he tartly explains. "One that doesn't lock, though it doesn't make a damn difference because they're always picking the locks. They're taking ridiculous precautions."

"What about privacy…?" I ask.

"Apparently I don't get to have any privacy. Apparently it's a privilege, not a right in this fucking house."

"Jeez," I murmur. "How're you going to… y'know… masturbate?" I wonder what _that_ would sound like… Jesus Christ, I need to stop being perverse. Now is _not_ the time.

"I don't know how I'm going to do _anything_," he mutters. "This is fucking bullshit."

"I know," I sympathize.

"It makes me want to do something just to spite their efforts," he continues.

"Wouldn't that be counterproductive?" I ask.

"What they're doing is counterproductive… I have no control and now they're taking away my privacy, too. Thus taking away even _more_ control. I have _no_ fucking control!" he shouts, throwing his hands up in anger.

"Sorry," I say, unsure of what else I can tell him.

"They've never cared about my privacy," he bites.

"Sorry," I say again.

"They hid all the scales," he adds. "Even the one in their bathroom is gone."

"Were you looking for them?"

"I was curious…" he says. "I just don't want to gain any weight. I just… want to maintain."

"You look fucking _good_, Kyle," I tell him.

"No, I don't," he scoffs. "I'm fucking awful. I'm a fat, ugly, virginal fire crotch."

"That's Cartman speaking and he only does it to get a rise out of you. He doesn't mean any of it. Girls like you," I say.

"No, they don't," he snaps. "They pity me. There's a difference."

I roll my eyes. "You're _not_ ugly."

"Yes, I fucking am and –"

"I love you," I cut him off before he can continue insulting himself.

He rubs his temples. "I know that, Stan. You tell me all the time."

"I really want to kiss you right now," I admit quietly.

Kyle pauses and looks surprise at that. "Wait, what?"

"I want to kiss you," I say again.

"Why?" he whispers.

"Because I'm into you."

Again, he asks, "Why…?" His tone is disdainful this time, as if he doesn't understand why I would want to be with him.

I think back to what Kenny said about me having to be able to answer this question. "Because you're the most important person in the world to me," I tell him, "and I think you're fuckin' beautiful."

His cheeks turn pink. "Really…" he murmurs quietly.

"Yeah, really."

He's quiet for a moment and I feel my heart beating rapidly. "Then why did you kiss Kenny so much?" he finally asks.

"Hormones got the best of me, I suppose," I admit. "I didn't think I'd be able to get out the words and tell you how I feel."

"But you want me more?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, reaching a hand and lightly touching his face. My fingers ghost across his cheeks before tangling in his curly, red hair. "So, can I kiss you?"

He nods.

I lean forward and part my lips slightly, touching my mouth to his. I wrap a hand around his back and pull him closer, leaning backwards so he's on top of me. As things get heated, a voice interrupts with an, "Ahem…"

We break apart fast and turn to see Ike standing in the doorway with crossed arms. He doesn't look phased as he says, "If you guys are going to do that stuff, you should probably wait until Mom and Dad go out and give me a warning so I can steer clear, yeah?" Then he walks off.

Kyle looks down at me and we both share a look before cracking up. "Ah," he sighs, collapsing on top of me. "This is why I need a damn lock… I'm almost eighteen for fuck's sake."

"Yeah," I agree. But I don't mind. It's not like we'll be fucking anytime soon. Kyle has things to deal with first.

He rolls off of me so we're lying side by side. "What are we, then?" he asks.

"I don't know…" I say. "I mean… What do you want? Do you feel the same way?"

"I think so… I think I've always felt something." I knew he was less than straight. I guess he just wasn't ready to admit it.

"Do you want a relationship? Are you ready for one?"

"I think so," he murmurs again. "I don't know…"

"Boyfriends, then? We can try… We don't have to tell people until you're ready. We can take things slow."

"Boyfriends," he repeats.

"Yes. Kyle, do you wanna be my boyfriend?"

He laughs softly. "Yeah, okay, sure… This is really fucking weird, huh?"

"Yeah, a bit," I agree.

"Stan and Kyle," he says, probably trying to see how it feels on his tongue. "When did you start to see me like that?"

"Shortly after Cartman rearranged your shelf," I tell him. "I don't know… but it's like, without Wendy as my girlfriend I began to notice different things."

"Oh," he says softly.

I reach for his hand, holding it in mine. "Don't worry about your weight," I whisper, turning to my side so I can face him.

"I can't help it, Stan," he admits, doing the same.

"Why are you worrying about it again so suddenly?" I ask him.

"It's difficult to talk about… It's always on my mind. Even when I was _better_, it was still on my mind. I just ignored the voice that told me not to eat. It… It's just been getting harder to tell it to stop," his tone wavers. "I just keep thinking how much easier it would be to just listen and I wouldn't constantly have to fight myself."

I nod, letting him know I'm hearing him. "Sometimes it helps to talk about things and to think about things," I say softly. "A lot of times, distraction can be useful… but it only helps for so long. You can't distract yourself forever. Don't distract yourself in an attempt to stop acknowledging you have a problem. Find something healthy to do to calm yourself. Try talking to people about it. Hell, try talking to yourself aloud if it helps. Give yourself reminders."

"Reminders?" he asks.

"Yeah, like… when you get the urge to wash your hands just tell yourself you don't need to wash your hands."

He smiles slightly. "It's so much more complicated than that, Stan. It's not that simple and I'm not that strong in mind."

"You're not weak in mind, either."

He sits and reaches under his bed, pulling out a box. He grabs a coiled book and brings it up on the bed.

"What's this?" I ask, forcing myself up.

"A photo album," he says, opening it. "They're mostly my photos."

I glance down at the pages as he flips them. There are photos of me, Kyle, Kenny, Cartman and even a few of Wendy, Bebe, Clyde and Tweek. We're young. We're happy. As Kyle continues to flip through the pages, the photos become more and more recent. He stops near the end of the book.

"We're fifteen years old here," he says, pointing to a photograph of me and him. "I weighed seventy-nine pounds. This was three months after I turned fifteen and about another three months before someone noticed I was sick." _Sick_… at least he's saying the word now.

I stare down at the photo – at the evidence. I glance up at Kyle – the pretty guy sitting here with me, and then I stare back down at the photo of the sickly child. He looked terrible and seeing it now, I can't believe I never noticed he was sick before the doctors told me. The boy in the photo looks dead. He looks like a walking corpse. He's bony and visibly emaciated. His hair is dull, his cheek bones are prominent and his eyes are sunken. He looks unhappy. It's just me smiling in the photo. I look stupidly oblivious to Kyle's pain.

"God…" I murmur.

"You know, I didn't puke often," he says quietly. "I starved myself until I was faced with something I couldn't handle. I'd have safe foods I would eat. I wanted to eat, but I didn't want what came with eating so if I gave in, I'd throw it up and get angry at my apparent loss of control. Eating was always such a relief. My body wanted it so fucking badly. I was in so much fucking pain… I fucking ruined myself… Irregular heartbeat, muscle loss, bone density loss, anemia... My mind hurt and my body hurt just as bad."

"Oh," I say quietly.

I can recall the day we found out with such vivid fucking clarity. Kyle asked me to carry his books for him to and from classes. He often did and I didn't mind. I never even bothered asking him why. Deep down, maybe I knew… Maybe I just wanted to keep pretending he was okay. Naturally, Cartman always laughed at us for it. He called us homos but we just brushed him off. After school, I gave Kyle his books. They weighed him down. With difficulty, he put his things away and when we were walking home, he fell. I thought he might have slipped on an ice patch, but he didn't. He fainted. I was scared. I was so fucking scared because I didn't know what was happening and he wouldn't wake up. I never called 911 before. That was the first time. I didn't know what else to do. I rode in the ambulance with him and the paramedics asked me what happened. I told them he fell and then they told me what was going on. When I heard the word "anorexia" I just shook my head. I thought there was no way Kyle was _anorexic_. He was just a little thin… he was just a little frail. But then I began thinking about it because in the waiting room it was all I really could do. I realized that I hadn't seen him eat in a long time. He was just skin stretched over bones.

Kyle ended up breaking his arm because his bones were so fragile. He was in a hospital room hooked up to a feeding tube. I just stared at him. He looked so small, like he could slip beneath my fingers if I were to touch him. I hated myself for being so naïve. When Kyle's family got to the hospital there was a lot of shouting. Sheila and Gerald weren't yelling at Kyle, though. They were just yelling at each other. Kyle was still unconscious. When he woke up, Sheila called Kenny and Cartman over and then held an intervention. I started crying hard when it was my turn to talk. For once, Cartman didn't laugh at me for it. Kyle was institutionalized for a month and when he left the hospital, everyone pretended nothing happened. He returned to school, caught up in his classes and everyone just smiled.

For a while, everything seemed okay and then one day Kyle and Cartman got into a fight. Kyle called him fat, and Cartman decided to return the insult. "I'm not the fat one, you are," he said. I'm not even sure he knew what he was saying. The words flew out of his mouth so damn fast and Kyle just responded with, "Oh." Cartman's eyes were wide, as if he had some sort of realization. He knew right away how badly he fucked up. Kyle was still underweight, but he did gain a lot back. He was still trying to get better. He was still only fifteen. He was too young to be going through so much.

Kyle went home, threw up the contents of his stomach and then refused supper. Sheila called me over that night, desperate and unsure what to do. I went to Kyle's room and I gently coaxed him into eating a cup of yogurt, silently promising to murder Cartman the following day. Kyle avoids the insult "fat" now because of that. Me and Kenny avoid it, too. Now we just call Cartman Tits or other dumb names.

I close my eyes, forcing myself not to think about those days. It won't happen again. Kyle _won't_ get that sick again.

"It's really fucking disgusting and ugly, isn't it?" Kyle asks, still staring at the photo.

"No, don't say that," I whisper.

He scoffs. "I looked worse than ever. Sometimes I look at the pictures of myself at this age and I remind myself I don't want to be there again. I've been looking at them a lot lately." He turns the page and there are more photos of him looking like a walking corpse. "It's ironic. What I wanted was control… but I completely lost it. It doesn't fucking matter what I do, I don't have control. I didn't have it when I was starving myself and I don't have it now, either. I wanted everything to be perfect. _I_ wanted to be perfect… It's not fixed just because I weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds. Sometimes damage isn't reversible. Since I was so young, it stunted my growth and ruined me in other ways, too. Now I'll always be... small."

"That isn't a bad thing," I say. I'm about 6' tall, Cartman is 5'10 and Kenny is 5'8. I guess we're all pretty tall. We tower over Kyle.

"I really fucked myself up. I wrecked myself. I hated myself," he murmurs.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Do you still?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Sometimes."

"How do you feel?" I ask gently.

"Okay," he says.

"See? Talking helps."

"Do you believe me now when I say I'm not going to get sick again?" he asks.

"Yeah," I tell him. "I believe you."

I just hope I'm not making a mistake.


	16. KM: Bowling

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thank you guys for reviewing! **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

Things have been slow. There hasn't been much progress with the Craig situation, but I'm being patient. Stan and Kyle got together. That didn't stay a secret from me for long. I noticed the secret lovey looks they were shooting each other during English class. I've noticed it all week. I thought I'd give them a chance to tell me, but maybe they're trying to keep it quiet for now.

"So…" I sing, grinning at Stan. He grins back and confirms what I already knew. Stan must have confessed.

"Just don't tell Jabba the Hutt," he says with a snort.

"I won't." I make a motion like I'm zipping my lips shut. I don't honestly think Eric would mess around with Kyle about it, though. He's psychotic, sure, but he _is_ Kyle's friend. Somewhere deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, very deep down, he does care. Since Kyle is unwell, he'll leave it until he's okay enough for offensive jokes.

Stan and Kyle are going to have a lot to work through. I can't see Kyle spreading his legs anytime soon. He's not comfortable in his own skin. He's the kind of guy who changes into his gym clothes in the corner, facing the wall. But he's in therapy now. Stan told me it was cognitive behavioural something or other… Not really sure what that means, but hopefully it will help him. Hopefully Stan will be able to stay strong through whatever is in store for them because the last thing Kyle needs is for Stan to abandon him. I don't think that would ever happen, though. He's selfless when it comes to Kyle.

After class, Clyde stops me in the hallway. "Hey, Kenny, I have a question."

"What's up?" I ask him, though I know what he wants.

"You're all right with me dating her, right?" he asks.

I don't bother asking who he's referring to because it's too obvious. "I don't mind," I tell him with a smile. "You guys make a good couple."

He returns the smile with one of his own. "You won't lose her," he says. "You're soul mates, right?"

"Right," I grin. "Always."

He nods, chuckling softly before sobering. "Gay as it sounds, Craig is probably mine… I can't live with him yet I can't live without him. We've been best friends for too long and I can't just walk away."

"That's nice, though," I say. "He's lucky to have someone like you." It's no secret that Clyde puts up with a hell of a lot of shit from Craig.

"You're into him, huh?" he murmurs.

"How'd you know?" I ask. Jeez. Does everyone know?

He shrugs. "I might be dumb when it comes to most things, but I know Craig. He's my best friend. I love the hell out of him… and I know him well enough to know when something is wrong. He hates when I mention your name. He's never been like that about anyone before – just his mom. That's when it kind of clicked. He is falling for you. He's falling for you and its scares the shit out of him. Because of that, he'll try damn hard to hurt you."

"He's already tried," I admit, "but I've hurt him, too… I've hurt him just by _wanting_ him."

Clyde nods sympathetically. "Welcome to the world of Craig Tucker… Just when you think things are okay, he makes a U-turn and he fucks you up. So be careful. I mean it, man. Be fucking careful."

I smile bitterly. What fun I'm in for…

"I saw you holding him in the hallway the other day," he continues. "It looked like you were doing more than just holding him. You were holding him together… trying to soak up the bad and glue back all the broken pieces. You love him, don't you?"

"I guess I do," I admit before lightly asking, "So, do I have your blessing?"

"Yeah," Clyde chuckles. "Be careful with him. He's not that strong in mind. If he loves you, he'll spite you for it… He'll hurt you but please don't hurt him back. He can't help being like that. It's not his fault… so be patient."

"I know," I say. "He told me about his mom."

"He did?" Clyde looks surprised.

I nod. "He told me she was depressed and she killed herself. He saw her shoot herself in the head." It paints a pretty vivid picture in my head. Red blood, snow white... Eugh.

Clyde nods sadly. "Before he finally told me, I never would've imagined him witnessing it. It took forever for him to tell me that story. It didn't take you that long, huh? Maybe you have a chance in softening him up after all."

"I was kind of pushy," I admit. "I know it's an important memory. It caused him to become who he is now. I just wanted to understand it better."

"Yeah," he says quietly.

"I get it now," I murmur. "He thinks if he gets close, I'll just end up leaving… or dying."

Clyde smiles sympathetically. "Yeah, sometimes we can't control these things. That's why he won't trust you if you say you won't leave him. Death happens when you least expect it… and even when you know it's coming, it's still unexpected. You could be dying of cancer and it'd still be a total shock to everyone around you when you finally kick the bucket."

"Yeah… what a sin," I say.

"By the way, me and Bebe are doing stuff this weekend," Clyde says. "I'll try and convince Craig to come and the four of us can double and go bowling or see a movie or something."

"Okay," I chuckle. "Sounds good."

"I'll work on him." Clyde grins, holding up a hand and waving before continuing to his next class.

* * *

When the weekend comes, Bebe calls me and tells me to meet at the bowling alley. "_Clyde is bringing Craig_," she happily informs me through the phone.

"Oh, wow. He actually convinced him to come?" I ask.

"_He sure did_!" she exclaims. "_So, hurry down. We're meeting up in half an hour_!" She hangs up after that and I decide I should probably get dressed.

I put on khaki pants and a v-neck. I'll look good today, rather than my typical sloppy self. I grab my parka, naturally, and then start walking. I leave early since it'll probably take me about twenty minutes to get there. I have no car or license. Fortunately, most things in South Park are close by.

When I arrive, I spot Bebe right away. "We're the first ones here," she says.

"I've never been bowling before," I admit.

Her jaw drops. "No way! It's super fun."

"I'm a little worried," I say. "I haven't seen Craig all week. Last time I saw him was at school. We hung out a bit but it ultimately ended awkwardly…"

"It'll be fine," she insists. "We won't let him make things awkward."

"Okay," I chuckle.

A moment later, she points to the door. Clyde saunters inside in his letterman jacket, all smiley. Behind him is Craig, who looks less than pleased. "Smile, Craig," Clyde tells him.

"Don't," he murmurs. "I'll hit you."

"Someone's sour," Bebe coos at him. Craig gives her a dull stare, but she isn't fazed. "Let's get our shoes and start playing," she says.

The shoes look really stupid, but Bebe insists that it's just part of the whole experience. We walk to the last lane and Craig flops into a chair. I remove my parka and set it down on the seat next to him.

"Who's keeping score?" Clyde asks.

"I will," Bebe volunteers. She's probably the only one capable of it. Craig doesn't care, Clyde sucks at math and I don't even know the rules. "Clyde's on my team," she adds. "Craig and Kenny, you guys are team two."

"Cool," I say. I shoot him a look. He offers me a small and somewhat forced smile. "You okay?" I mouth. He simply nods and we both stare ahead, watching Bebe.

All the pins get knocked down and I'm pretty impressed. "Strike!" She jumps around happily, marking down the points on the sheet of paper.

"Good job," I tell her.

"Thanks," she smiles. "Your turn, Craig."

He stands up and takes the bowling ball, bringing his arm back before swinging it forward and letting go of the ball. He turns around without waiting to see how he did.

"Well, shit," I deadpan.

"Eight pins," Bebe says. "Very nice."

Clyde goes next and only knocks down four pins. He laughs it off. I'm sure I'm not going to do much better.

"You can do it, Kenny!" Clyde and Bebe say encouragingly.

I just smile. "You're not supposed to root for the other team." My first ball goes straight into the gutter and they let me try again out of humoured pity. This time I get two pins. "Jeez," I deadpan. "I fucking suck."

"Bowling is hard," Clyde agrees.

* * *

Naturally Bebe and Clyde win, but me and Craig were close behind. Well, Craig and Bebe were pretty much the only ones knocking pins down. Clyde sucked and I was about ten times worse, but it was fun. Craig loosened up a bit as the game went on. I don't think he realized it, though. If he did, he probably would have tried acting like more of an asshole.

Afterward, we decide to pick up Chinese takeout from City Wok and go to Clyde's house. Fortunately, he has a car and I don't need to do any more trekking around town.

Craig covers his mouth with a hand and yawns as we settle in the basement.

"Tired?" I ask, taking my parka off.

"As always," he says with a frown.

Clyde puts on a movie called _Brick_, insisting, "You're gonna love this."

"What's it about?" Bebe asks, opening her takeout box.

"It's a modern day film noir about a _brick_ of heroin," Craig supplies in a dull tone.

"Is it good?" I ask and Craig simply nods. "Oh," I say. "You guys watch a lot of movies, huh?"

"Yeah," Clyde laughs. "We both have pretty different taste, but we agree this is a good one." He presses play and the film starts.

I put my arm around Craig and Clyde gives me a thumbs up. I roll my eyes in good humour and watch the movie.

* * *

When the movie is over, Bebe and Clyde announce that they're going to make smoothies. I think they're just looking for an excuse to leave me and Craig alone.

"So, you and Bebe finally broke up," he states once they're gone.

"Yeah," I tell him. "It was bound to happen."

Craig simply nods.

"You're into me, right?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. He just stares straight ahead at the wall.

"Fucking answer me…" I murmur.

"No."

"I just wanna fuckin' _be_ with you," I yell, exasperated. "And I know you want the same, so stop running away!"

He closes his eyes and sighs. "I don't want to put a label on whatever this is," he says.

"People _need_ to use labels. Otherwise how will we know what the hell is going on in the world?"

He presses his lips together, looking mildly irritated. I take a step forward and stare straight into his eyes. He looks away. "Don't do that," he murmurs.

I grab his face in my palms and force him to look at me.

"Fucking don't!" he snaps, placing his hands over mine and trying to pry them away. "Fucking don't…" he whispers this time, closing his eyes.

"You can't avoid being close to people, Craig. It just won't work."

He lets out a sigh and lets his hands slip away from mine. He opens his glassy eyes and presses his lips to mine, sobbing into my lips. I tangle my hands in his hair as we kiss and once we break apart, he says, "Fuck you… Fuck you for making me feel like this."

I just smile. "Don't think about it," I say. "Just feel it."

"It's not as easy as you make it seem," he whispers.

"Smoothies are done, guys!" we hear Bebe call a moment later from the top of the stairs.

"Let's go," I say to Craig and the two of us walk upstairs. Clyde and Bebe greet us with smiles and they're probably just pretending they don't notice Craig's red-rimmed eyes.

"We heard some yelling," she whispers to me as Clyde sets the table. "Is everything okay?"

"I think it is now," I tell her.

I think it is…


	17. KB: Bad dreams

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thank you guys, as always! :) I'm really glad you're enjoying.**

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

_I'm rolled onto my side and I feel a body pressed up against mine. He pushes in with little warning and I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from yelling out. I suppress a strangled moan. "My God, you're so warm," he says as he eases his way into me. He puts a hand on my hip to keep me from shaking as he starts moving and thrusting._

_It hurts. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying hard not to tense up. It hurts more that way, right? He pulls out halfway then drives back in, repeating the movements. My muscles are aching and begging for a quick finish but I know that asking for it would be a futile effort. It's taking everything I have to keep my body from spasming reflexively. __I can't help but shout._

"_God, shut up!" he hisses angrily, roughly grabbing a fistful of my hair. I continue to moan and mumble nonsense words as my body rocks back and forth with his movements. __"You're a slut, Kyle," the voice says softly, almost fondly. "You're disgusting, Kyle. Disgusting!" He is shouting now. _

"_I know," I say. I don't know what makes me agree. I close my eyes to try and keep from yelling. My body feels like it's being lit on fire, every inch of me burning. I'm not sure whether it's from pain or complete and utter humiliation. _

"_Everyone would laugh if they saw you like this," he continues, chuckling. _

"_I know," I repeat. I'm flipped onto my back and I see the figure who is grunting and moaning above me. It's Stan. _

* * *

When I wake up, I'm shaking. How unsettling…

"That wasn't real," I remind myself aloud… but it _could_ be. Maybe that's what will happen when the inevitability arrives. I can't put off sex forever, can I? I don't want to be a disappointment… Me and Stan haven't even kissed since we decided to start seeing each other. I know he said we'd take it slow, but I'm worried he'll grow impatient. I let out a breath and shake it off for the time being.

It's Sunday now and when I leave my room, I watch the water cascade over my hands for a while. When I finally go downstairs, my mom is in the kitchen baking.

"What's that?" I ask her.

"Coconut macaroons," she says with a smile.

"Oh," I say.

She frowns, probably sensing that something is wrong. "What is it, Bubby?"

"Bad dream," I tell her vaguely.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offers.

I shake my head. "Where's Ike?" Maybe I'll tell him about it. It might be easier since he's very medical and he already knows about me and Stan.

"He's not here," she says. "He's at Filmore's. He'll be back by supper."

"Oh," I say weakly. I _need_ someone to talk to and I don't want it to be my mom. Usually I would call Stan, but he's the problem.

"What is it, Kyle?" she asks. "You're worrying me." A second later, the oven buzzer goes off. She puts on her oven mitts and takes out a pan of desserts.

"I just want to talk to Ike," I say.

"You can't talk to _me_?"

"No," I flat out tell her.

"Oh… Why don't you call Stan instead?" she suggests.

I shake my head. "I don't want to talk to him."

"Why not? He's your best friend." Well, he's definitely more than just that now. She takes the cookies out of the pan and places them on a rack to cool down.

"I know he is," I say, "but I don't want to talk to him." I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, overcome with nausea. I feel my mother put her hand on my shoulder. I feel like I'm having a mild panic attack, but I've never had a panic attack before. Stan used to get them when we were littler. He has asthma, too. He says he's learned how to calm himself down during a fit, though, so it isn't a problem anymore. How enviable. I wish I knew how to calm myself down.

"Bubby, you're worrying me…"

I open my eyes and look at her. "I'm sorry…"

She shakes her head dismissively. "Here," she says, "Have a cookie."

I take three and sit down at the table to eat them, ignoring the voice telling me I should be avoiding these kinds of foods – fattening foods. Foods that won't solve any of my problems. Foods that will just end up causing me more problems.

"Sharon called the other day," Ma mentions. "She and Randy are separating."

"He didn't tell me…" I murmur between mouthfuls. "Why wouldn't he tell me that?"

"Poor boy," Mom says. "Perhaps he felt like you had enough on your plate."

I frown at that. When I finish eating, we chat for a little longer until I decide to go upstairs. I feel the knots in my stomach growing tighter. It's filled with guilt and shame and anger. It's not just because I cracked. It's too many things. I can't quite put it into words.

"Kyle…?" my mom calls as I leave the room.

"What?" I ask from the stairwell.

"Come back down here," her voice wavers knowingly. She stands in the kitchen doorway and stares at me pleadingly.

"No," I say.

"Why not? Where are you going?"

"I need to piss," I tell her crudely. She looks incredibly sad and I know she knows I'm lying. She doesn't even bother telling me to mind my language.

I go upstairs and enter the bathroom. I lock the door and sink onto the floor in front of the toilet, sticking my fingers down my throat to excite my gag reflex. I feel my nails scrape across the back of my throat. I gasp, I dry heave and I feel the contents of my stomach shift but I don't puke. I hover over the toilet, poking and digging my fingers further town my throat. I choke and convulse until I finally vomit all over my hand. Relief. I stick my slimy fingers down my throat and do it once more. Relief.

I'll use a toothbrush next time.

Wait… next time?

I hear my mom start to cry on the other side of the door. She followed me. I ignore her and stare into the toilet bowl at the mess of undigested food. It looks disgusting and smells even worse. "No… why did I do that…?" I whisper to myself. "I'm better…"

I shudder, spitting and trying to rid my mouth of the slimy residue. I flush the toilet and force myself to me feet, trying to get rid of the awful smell. I wash my hands and rinse my mouth out before opening the door.

My mom hugs me tightly, sobbing and apologizing. "Oh, my poor baby…"

I let out a keening sound before sobbing with her.

* * *

When Ike gets home, he enters my room. "Mom said you wanted to talk to me," he says. She probably told him what happened because his tone is cautious.

I place the book I'm reading on my nightstand and tell him, "I did. I don't anymore."

"Come on, Kyle…" he urges. He steps forward, sitting down on my bed next to me.

"It's too man things," I admit.

"Yeah?" he pries.

"I had a dream," I tell him. "I just don't want it to come true…"

"What happened in it?" he asks.

"Stan… He _hurt_ me. He told me I was disgusting. I fucking felt it… even now, I feel it…"

Stomach? Fat.

Hips? Fat.

Legs? Fat.

Arms? Fat.

Nose? Too big.

Eyes? Too far apart.

Skin? Too pasty.

Hair? Too messy.

I'm too much of everything. It really is disgusting.

"Stan didn't really say that, Kyle," Ike gently says. "It was just a dream. Stan would never say that. He loves you, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," I say weakly. "He loves me…"

Ike offers an encouraging smile.

"His parents are splitting," I murmur. "He didn't tell me… he didn't _feel_ like he could tell me."

"You have a lot going on…" Ike tries to reason.

I scoff. "I'm selfish, right?"

"Let's go downstairs," he says, changing the subject. "Supper is almost ready."

"I'm not hungry," I murmur.

He pales. "Kyle, come downstairs… Please?"

"I just feel a bit nauseous," I say. It's true, but I recognize this familiar, hollow feeling. My body wants food. My stomach is whining and I'm getting a headache.

"Fine," Ike relents, standing up and leaving without another word. He's disappointed. I can't seem to stop disappointing people.

* * *

An hour later, I hear the doorbell rings. I hear my mother answer it and start to speak. "He's refusing food again," she says. Her voice is wary and sad. "I caught him making himself sick earlier."

I stand in my doorway and listen. I don't know who she's talking to but I find out a minute later when Stan ascends the stairs, looking tired.

"I don't _want_ you here!" I immediately shout at him. I don't want him to think I'm disgusting. I don't want him to get angry. I don't want him here because I know he _will_ be disgusted and angry.

"You promised," he murmurs.

"I didn't mean to!" I insist.

"Kyle, don't do this again… please," he says weakly. "I can't watch you kill yourself…"

"I won't! I won't do it again! I'm fine, I swear," I yell.

"You know what, Kyle…?" he sighs. "I don't believe you… I'm sorry, but I just don't. You lie and you lie and you lie. You're manipulative and you know how to get your way. I'm sick of it. I don't believe you. I _can't_ believe you. You've never given me a reason to."

He's mad. He's mad at me. I let out a pathetic whimper, trembling and sinking into myself. "Fuck…" I murmur to myself. "Fuck…!"

"Why did you do it?" Stan asks wetly. "Just tell me that much."

"Too many things…" I let out a breath, sniffing. "I had a really bad dream," I whisper. It sounds so fucking stupid when I say it out loud and I know there's no way I can make him understand. I have too much anxiety. It's crippling me.

He frowns. "What happened in it?"

I stare down at my hands, unable to look at him when I say it. "We were _together_," I meekly explain, "but it wasn't… It wasn't right. It was all wrong."

"What was so wrong about it?" he asks gently.

"You…" I start, letting out a breath. "You were hurting me on purpose. You were saying vile things. I felt filthy. You called me disgusting."

He touches my chin, forcing me to look at him and I see that his eyes are wet. "Listen to me," he says in a steady voice, "I would _never_ say that. You know it and I know it. It was just a dream. It wasn't even a dream, it was a nightmare. It wasn't real. It was a lie… Okay?"

"But I felt it… I still feel it," my voice cracks and he wraps his arms around me. I don't even know who is comforting who right now because we're both crying.

"You… You need to find a healthy way to deal with bad emotions and bad thoughts," he says carefully, as if he's afraid of saying all the wrong things.

"I know," I murmur.

We stayed glued together for another few minutes. "I got snot on your sweater," he announces, as we break apart. "Sorry."

I just laugh quietly. "I don't mind."

"What about your photos?" he asks. He kneels and reaches under my bed, pulling out the familiar book and handing it to me.

I let out a shaky sigh, taking it and opening to the center. I stare at all the ugly photos. I don't want to be like that again… do I? I take one of the photos out of the plastic cover. It's a photo of me, Stan, Kenny and Cartman. Stan is smiling. Kenny's eyes look especially bright. Cartman looks smug as ever. I just look withered and dead. I take a roll of tape out from my desk and stick the photograph on the wall near my bed.

Stan watches me silently. "Kyle," he says my name softly. "What're you doing?"

"Reminders," I mumble. "I'll… I should put one in the bathroom." I take another photo out of its plastic covering. This time, it's a photo of me. Just me. I think Stan took it. I didn't want him to take it, but he insisted. In it, I'm bony and emaciated.

"Kyle, you don't have to do that," Stan tries to reason.

"I do… Otherwise I'll just mess up again," I tell him. I curl a piece of tape and stick it to the back of the photograph before walking through the door-less doorway. Stan follows me out and into the bathroom, taping the photo onto the side of the mirror. I stare at it and then I stare at my reflection. Jesus fucking Christ.

Stan grabs my hand. "Let's eat something," he says.

"Fine," I relent.

We walk downstairs and my mom looks relieved to see me. She's in the middle of doing the dishes, but she stops when she spots me and Stan. I offer her a smile.

"Stan has the magic touch," Ike says with a slight innuendo. He's sitting at the kitchen table reading a text book.

I roll my eyes at him. "I'm hungry, Ma," I say.

She looks happy to hear that. "I'll heat you up some supper," she says. "Stan?"

"Sure," he smiles.

We sit down at the kitchen table with Ike and a few minutes later, Mom brings over two plates of food.

"Thanks, Sheila," Stan says.

"Thanks, Ma."

"No problem, boys." She continues doing dishes, probably feeling wholeheartedly relieved.

"Stan…?" I say his name quietly once my ma is preoccupied.

"Hm?" he asks.

"Why didn't you tell me your parents split?"

He smiles sympathetically and I hate it. "Sorry, Kyle…" he says, but he doesn't tell me why.

I grind my teeth and relent, staring over at my mother's back as she stands over the sink. It's so easy for parents to become oblivious. It's simpler that way. Then they won't have to acknowledge that their child isn't perfect. It's always easier when everyone pretends everything is fine. My parents were oblivious for so long. Even after Ike brought up his concern, they brushed him off and insisted his big brother was fine. It's hard to keep pretending when you're finally faced with the consequences. Everything is ruined. Forever. Even now, I'm not okay. I'll never be okay. I'll never be fully recovered because some of the damage is permanent.

I was in a hospital, but once I left, everyone went back to pretending. Like I said, it's easier that way. Everyone pretended except Ike, who always keeps a watchful eye on me. I find that so annoying. There are times I hate him for it, but he is never swayed by my spite. Someday, I'll thank him.


	18. KM: So this is heartbreak

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**I apologize for this chapter's events LOL. Also, sorry for the sporadic update. My best pal is living with me for a little while so I'm busier. **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

The weeks have been slow and steady. Craig hasn't been acting like such a tool and I haven't been nagging him about things he doesn't want to talk about. I've remained tight lipped. He's been smiling more and he said he'd be willing to talk to me later tonight.

"How's Kyle?" I ask Stan during free period. I'm seated across from him at a table and we both have our textbooks out, though we're hardly studying.

He simply shrugs. "Some days are better than others. I never know if I'm helping or hurting."

"Yeah," I sympathize, though I don't really know what it's like. I haven't been around as much. I've been too preoccupied with Craig. "Has he been… eating and stuff?"

"Yeah," Stan murmurs. "Me, Ike and his parents have been making sure. I mean… he either has to eat with us or he can go eat at a hospital with a fucking feeding tube in his face like when he was fifteen. I think he just feels guilty for making us upset when he refuses food… Then he feels guilty for eating afterward and the whole thing is just a shitty cycle. He's all conflicted and then it makes him angry."

"What a sin," I frown. I hate the thought of Kyle going through that once, the possibility of a relapse is something I'd like to avoid happening. For his sake, but also for the sake of Stan and everyone else who cares about him.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I just want him to be happy with himself… I'm worried he never will be."

"Yeah, I know. These things take time. Just be there for him and be patient."

He nods. "Where've you been lately, anyhow?" he asks.

"Me and Bebe broke up," I tell him. Big reveal.

"Wow, really?" he asks. "I never thought I'd see the day."

I chuckle. "Yeah, she's with Clyde now."

"Oh, Clyde must be off the walls about that," he snorts. "And you're still trying to woo Craig?"

I give a slow nod. "Key word, _trying_."

"Is progress still slow?" he asks.

"Alas," I sigh, but I'm being patient. Well, once again, the key word is _trying_. I'm _trying_ to be patient.

He chuckles. "It'll work out. It always does, doesn't it?"

"I guess that's true… but anyway, I don't want to keep talking about depressing shit like my lack of a love life," I chuckle.

"Fair enough."

"Hey, we should all hang out soon," I suggest. "Just the four of us – You, me, Kyle and haven't in a while. I miss it."

"Me too," Stan smiles. He looks tired… no, he looks _exhausted_. He's probably worrying himself sick over things he has no control over. Control… That's what it's all about, isn't it? That's part of why Kyle is sick and that's part of why Craig is afraid. It's all just fucking miserable.

Speaking off –

"Hey, guys," Kyle greets as he finds us in study hall. He sits down next to Stan and takes out his things. "What are we doing?" he asks.

"Well, we _weren't_ doing homework," I say truthfully. "We were mostly procrastinating."

"Oh, shame," Kyle sighs. He opens up his laptop and decides, "I'm going to work on my English essay. Did either of you two decide what you'll be writing on?"

I make a face. "No."

Stan shrugs. "Nope."

Kyle sighs again. "You two…" he trails off, exasperated. "Did you at least pick a novel?"

I shake my head and Stan says, "Nope," again.

Kyle should know by now that none of us are good at starting early. "You do realize it's due in one week," he says slowly. "I just finished my book."

"What did you read?" I ask.

He reaches back into his bag and pulls out a book. "_As I lay Dying_ by William Faulkner."

"Oh," I say, examining the book cover. "Have any suggestions as to what I should read?"

"Me, too," Stan adds.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "I'll bring you both something tomorrow."

"Thanks," I grin big.

"Make sure it's something short," Stan says.

Kyle rolls his eyes at Stan's avoidance of effort. "Got it, _Einstein_."

* * *

Around 6PM I make my way to Craig's house. When I show up, I ring the bell twice. The door opens and Ruby is standing with arms crossed, chewing loudly on a wad of bubble gum. "Where's Craig?" I ask.

"He's upstairs," she says with a little giggle.

I run up to his room and once I near the door I understand what Ruby was laughing at. I can hear it – panting, moaning… wet sex sounds. Nonetheless, I open the door and my eyes go wide. I'm greeted with the sight of Craig – face down, ass up and getting railed by a big dude I've never seen before. He looks older than us, probably a random college douche. He doesn't stop after they notice me. He just keeps moving. Craig stares at me as he gets plowed and I feel my heart sink. Craig's lips part as he pants, the side of his face pressed into the mattress as the stranger holds him down. Ruby walks past me and cackles cruelly before retreating to her own bedroom. "Craig, you're fuckin' gross!" I hear her shout. Craig probably hears it, too. Fuck. This is pure dysfunction. She shouldn't be laughing, she should be helping him see that he deserves more than _this_.

Craig isn't even fazed. His face remains blank. He just looks completely apathetic – almost dead, like a fucking corpse or some shit. He lurches forward with each rough and angry thrust. I want to turn around and run home, but I can't find it in me to move. The guy gives Craig a reach around and begins sloppily jerking him off as he continues to violently thrust and grunt. It's disgusting. I'm disgusted. It's so aggressive and emotionless, I can almost feel it. Hate. I've always thought sex was something beautiful and important, whether or not you do it with friends or lovers… but this is the opposite. This is ugly and wrong. It's a little heartbreaking and it kind of makes me want to cry. I can feel my throat contract. This is all Craig allows himself to have.

I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. Clyde warned me about this.

I watch him come and he is still staring at me as he does it, letting out these soft little sounds. His nose wrinkles and he lets out a breath. My eyes grow watery and all Craig becomes is a blur. I turn around before the tears start to fall and I force myself to leave.

When I'm outside, I begin sobbing because the whole thing is just too fucking sad. I don't even know who I'm crying for – Craig or myself. I try to stop, wanting to convince myself it's not worth it but I can't. I cry until I reach the poor part of town, but then I force myself to calm down because I don't want Karen to say anything about it. I briskly wipe my eyes and take a deep breath.

When I do get home, I find her in the living room talking on the phone. She's laughing loudly. I drown out the sound and grab a granola bar from the kitchen, shoving it in my mouth before returning to the living room. Karen isn't on the phone anymore. She's staring at me like she knows exactly what's been up.

"Ruby said Craig broke your heart," Karen says without an ounce of sympathy.

"Ruby said this, Ruby said that!" I shout, exasperated and angry. "I don't give a flying fuck what Ruby says, Karen! She's a heartless little girl!"

"Touchy, much?" she scoffs. "Then it must be true."

I crash onto the sofa and put my head in my hands. "God… when did it all get fucked?" I ask in a murmur.

She rubs my back. "It's always been fucked, darling. You've just never noticed before because you've played it safe. Love games are never safe. I warned you. I told you that you'd get pulled in. It's happened, hasn't it? You're in too deep."

"It hurts," I whisper.

"Of course it does," she says. "That's love for yah. It almost makes you understand why Craig fears it so much."

I guess this is it. I started the game and now I've lost. Funny, I was so sure I was about to win.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be going out with some friends…" Karen adds. "But if you want, I can stay?"

I shake my head. "Go. Have fun."

* * *

Later in the night, I go downstairs to get something to eat. Karen and Kevin are out, so I'm here alone with my mom and dad. When I'm finished, I hover in the doorway but my parents don't even look at me. "Hey…" I call softly.

No answer.

"Hey!" I shout this time.

Still, no answer.

"Fuck you, Mom!" I scream. "Fuck you, too, Dad!"

They both look taken aback because I never yell. Finally, a reaction.

"Fuck you!" I scream again. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOOOOU!" I keep repeating it until my father gets up and slaps me across the face to shut me up. I slump onto the floor and let out an angry sob, panting and trying to calm myself.

"Christ, boy…" Dad spits. He forces me to my feet and drags me downstairs. This part is distantly familiar.

"Wait…" I choke out, stumbling. "Wait…!" He doesn't and soon we reach the bottom of the stairs. We're in the dank basement and he's pushing me into the back room. "NO!" I scream, trying to prevent him from closing the door… but he's stronger than I am. I hear the lock click from the other side and I start crying. I sit on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest and pressing my chin into my knees.

"It's fine, it's fine, it's fine, it's fine…" I try to calm myself but it's not working. The loud whirring of the furnace is all I hear and it's deafening. I squeeze my eyes shut and clasp my palms over my ears, trying to find silence amongst the noise. "Please… please… please…" I sob to myself, hyperventilating.

I don't know how long I'm down here like this, but it's unbearable. I shudder as I feel something brush against my bare foot… probably a rat. Still refusing to open my eyes, I move my hands away from my ears and tangle them in my hair. I kick at the door and start screaming again, feeling like I'll snap if I stay in here for much longer. I keep screaming until my voice is hoarse and my throat is sore and finally, I hear the door open. I stop screaming, taking a deep breath before opening my eyes. It's Karen.

She bends down, wrapping her arms around me tightly as I rest my forehead against her shoulder. "It's okay…" she says in a strangely gentle tone.

I shudder, feeling nauseous and tired.

"I just got home," Karen says, letting go of me. "Ruby is with me. We heard screaming…"

I feel delirious. My lower lip trembles, but I force back another sob and instead let out a childish whimper. "Where is she now?" I ask hoarsely.

"I told her to wait upstairs," she says, offering me her hand and helping me stand. "I knew you'd be crying and she probably would have taken a little too much pleasure in seeing you a mess."

I grimace at that, wiping my eyes dry.

"You know, you have to be careful," she continues. "If they get angry, it never ends well. It's better to let them ignore you."

"I can't help it," I murmur. "I get sick of it… and I forget what it's like in here."

"I know," she says softly.

Hand in hand, we walk back upstairs. My parents are still watching TV. They heard me screaming. They didn't care. It's funny… all I wanted was for them to pay attention to me, even if it meant abuse. I take it back. I think I forgot how much it really scares me.

"Now that you've had some time to think about your action, what d'you hafta say?" Dad asks.

"I hate you," I murmur, "and I'm not sorry." A lie, of course. I find it almost impossible to hate my parents, even with their constant mistakes. I know they know this as well. That's why I feel like I can say it. I'll feel this way for a while, but I'll get over it. I'll love them again, even though I shouldn't. I don't think that hatred is something I'll ever be capable of. If truly hated them, I wouldn't keep trying to get their attention.

"What in Sam Hill is wrong with you, boy?" he demands. "I thought you learned your damn place."

"I hate you…" I murmur again.

Either way, they don't look like they care all that much, but at least I have their attention. "What is this about?" mom warily asks. Her focus is still on the television.

"Just fucking look at me!" I yell.

She lets out a sigh, turning my way. "Well…?"

And suddenly I'm at a loss. I don't know what I say. There's too much and these are feelings I can't quite put into words.

Karen rolls her eyes. "Kenny's just being emo 'cause he wants the good kind of attention," she says, adding her own two cents but I suppose she's right. "Plus his _not boyfriend_ rejected him in a pretty big way." I want to wring her neck right about now.

This gets my dad's attention. "_Boy_friend?" he asks, sounding outraged. "What about that blond girl?"

"We broke up," I state tersely. "You're not allowed to get angry about this shit since you have no fucking clue what's going on in my life. You don't know what's going on in Karen's life either, or Kevin's. You're both just selfish and self-absorbed!"

"So, what, then?" he continues. "You're dating boys now? Trynna make some sort of statement?"

"No," I say tersely. "I like _a_ boy. Just one."

"He must be special, yeah?" Mom asks with a snort.

"I don't know," I murmur. "I just know he's a fucking prick."

"Well, keep trying," she says with a careless sigh. "You'll snare him eventually."

"I already did," I admit, "and now he's snared me."

"Why'd you let that happen?" Dad asks angrily, as if it's my own damn fault.

"I didn't _let_ it happen," I snap. "It just fucking happened. I didn't even realize it."

Mom tilts her head to the side, as if in thought. "Why'd he reject you, then?"

"Because he's fucking scared," I grit, the mere thought of it is causing me to feel anger. "He thinks relationships are just inevitably disappointing. He thinks I'll end up dying or something and he's scared of losing people."

"Well, just prove to him that you won't die," she says simply. "Show him you're secret."

I frown and I feel my eyebrows draw together.

"Now are you finished yackin'?" she asks.

"Yeah…" I murmur.

Me and Karen go back upstairs, she retreats to her room while I retreat to mine. I can hear her and Ruby chattering away. I'm going to try and sleep early, but I won't mind the noise. I'll gladly welcome the sound of happy voices over the sound of the fucking furnace.

* * *

At school the next day, Kyle brings me and Stan books. For Stan, he has _Hear the Wind Sing_ by Haruki Murakami for Stan. "This is the shortest book I have," he says with a laugh. "A6 pocket size and only a hundred and thirty pages."

For me, he has _Fight Club_ by Chuck Palahniuk. "Fitting," Stan snickers.

I just force a smile. I haven't gotten in a fight in a while. I've had other things to worry about… but then again, if Bill started shit I wouldn't hesitate to wreck him worse than ever.

"You okay?" Kyle asks.

"Not exactly," I admit. "Craig told me to come over last night. So, I did… and he was getting fucked by some guy. I think he wanted me to see it. It was a big _fuck you_ to me… Tsk. Clyde warned me about Craig doing this kind of shit, but I thought it was over… I thought he was coming around… Guess I was fucking wrong."

Stan's lips part. "Holy hell, what an asshole. First Clyde, then Lola and now you… He's got a pretty bad track record with this kind of shit."

"You deserve better than him," Kyle adds. "He's not going to be good to you."

"I know," I murmur. "I think I get it now. I'm going to try and forget about him. He's probably more trouble than it's worth."

Kyle smiles sympathetically and Stan pats my shoulder.

* * *

During my elective class, I tell Bebe what happened. I tell her what my parents did and what Craig did and she looks immensely disappointed. "I'm going to kill them all," she murmurs.

I just shrug. "Don't bother," I tell her. "It's not worth it. He's not worth it. My parents aren't worth it. I'm not worth it."

"Do you really believe that?" she asks. "Come on, honey. You're worth so much. Don't let that asshole bring you down to his level. You can't force away your feelings. If you love Craig, you have to do something about it."

"There is literally no way I can make him understand," I say. "He's too warped." But I can't help but think back to what my mom said last night – _show him_. Maybe that's what I'll have to do… I just don't know how I'll do it. This will be my last attempt. If this doesn't work, I'm done. I'm so fucking done.


End file.
